

* 




* 




» 


t 



I 




f 





tf . 




4 


• . ** 




'S 


•V V v'*' 




t 
















MONSIGNOR 

VILLAROSA 


BY 

POMPEO, DUKE LITTA 

AUTHOR OF "THE SOUL OF A PRIEST” 

Cu-vM-iu, ‘ * V 


G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 
NEW YORK AND LONDON 
XLbc IRnicfterlJOCfter press 


1914 



PZ2 

v\ 



Copyright, 1914 

BY 

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 



©CI,A376376 



Ubc finicherbocfecr iprese, IRcw HJocR 


JUN 19 1914 


o 


f 


Uo 

THE MEMORY OF 

FATHER GEORGE TYRRELL, SJ. 

THIS BOOK IS REVERENTLY 


INSCRIBED 



AUTHORS NOTE 


Varese {Italy) is not and ne^er was an episcopal 
see; no Italian bishop ever was in his youth a soldier 
of Garibaldi; and no riots ^ as described ^ ever took 
place in Varese, 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I The Star OF “The Thousand” . i 
II The Bay of a Hound • • • 35 

III A Priest and a Public Duty . . 66 

IV The Grievances of the Peasantry . 93 

V The Meeting at Taino Castle . 126 

VI The Letter Marked “ Private ” . 159 

VII Two Views Concerning Marriage . 186 

VIII A Scheming Prelate . . .214 

IX A Charge and a Halt . . . 244 

X A Letter and a Journey . . . 274 

XI Vanquished but Not Cowed . . 305 

XII The Weapons of Rome . . . 337 

XIII God Will Decide! .... 370 


vii 






















Monsignor Villarosa 


CHAPTER I 

THE STAR OF '' THE THOUSAND ’’ 

The sun was slowly sinking behind gorgeous 
masses of gold and purple clouds banked precipi- 
tously over the snowy mountains which encircle 
the Lombard highlands. Now and again a quiver- 
ing arrow of vivid light, as if on mischief bent, 
played upon the silver locks and the gentle but 
thoughtful face of a man who sat by an open 
window of the episcopal villa of Casbenno, near 
the town of Varese. His black gown, edged with 
violet, and the costly amethyst cross upon his 
breast proclaimed him the Bishop, while the taper- 
ing fingers which held the letter engrossing his 
attention evidenced his birth and breeding. 
Suddenly the tense, earnest face relaxed; an 
amused smile, in which irony and pity were curi- 
ously blended, lit up his features, and, turning 

I 


5 Monsignor Villarosa 

from the massive desk in front of him, he gazed 
upon the lovely scenery of the lake and hills. 
As he feasted his soul upon its beauty, the expres- 
sion of his sensitive face melted into one of pro- 
found tenderness. Evidently the landscape had 
for him an individuality which he regarded with 
a peculiar combination of passionate love and 
melancholy longing. 

While he was thus lost in thought, another 
priest, heavy shouldered and loosely built, made 
his appearance. He stalked in with the clumsy 
tread of those bom to follow the plough, but, not- 
withstanding his abrupt and noisy entrance, the 
Bishop continued to be thoroughly imconscious 
of his presence. To attract his attention the 
newcomer deliberately overtiumed a chair, which 
fell with a mighty crash on the mosaic floor. 

Mercy upon us! What’s the matter?” testily 
expostulated the very much startled prelate. 
Then, seeing who it was, he went on in a pacified 
tone: “Don Paolino! Don Paolino! You always 
remind me of a cyclone! But it’s all right — you 
have come in the nick of time. I have received 
a letter of great importance, upon which I wish 
to consult you.” 

“I imagined your Excellency would need me, 
and accordingly came without summons,” the 


The Star of The Thousand 


3 


priest replied in the harsh and guttiiral dialect of 
the Lombard hill-folk. He was far from prepos- 
sessing, with his coarse, sallow features and non- 
descript eyes, but the many shortcomings of his 
person were amply compensated by the shrewd 
and humorous expression of his big nose and 
mouth and by his dog-like devotion to his master. 
For more than thirty years Don Paolino Bosetti 
had been chaplain and private secretary to Mon- 
signor Guido Villarosa, Bishop of Varese, and the 
gossiping clergy of the diocese were unable to 
explain the devoted attachment between these 
two seeming extremes. 

The solution of the riddle was very simple : both 
had been born in the same village, Corgeno, 
which nestles between the high hills of Casale and 
the Lake of Varano. Villarosa was the lord of 
the manor, and Paolino the son of one of his tenant- 
farmers. The lad had grown under the eye of the 
master, who, to the surprise of every one, having 
entered Holy Orders, obtained almost immediately 
the position of Curato, or parish priest, of his 
own village, an unprecedented exception to the 
unwritten laws of ecclesiastical preferment. Villa- 
rosa had taught the lad to serve Mass, then, 
gradually attracted by his happy and affectionate 
temperament, had discovered in him a bright. 


4 Monsignor Villarosa 

though simple, intelligence, together with a great 
ambition to learn. The boy was accordingly 
educated at the master’s expense, and finally sent 
to the Seminario Arcivescovile, in Milan, for the 
wily Bosettis, by constant repetition, had bad- 
gered Paolino into an overpowering vocation for 
the Church. After the ordination, Villarosa had 
obtained for him the coadjutorship of Corgeno, 
and when later his noble patron accepted the see 
of Varese, the young priest, as a matter of course, 
followed his beloved master. 

When Paolino was seated the Bishop read aloud 
the letter he had just been perusing : it came from 
the Curato of a remote mountain village, and was 
a most pitiable epistle, laboriously scrawled in 
an uneducated hand. The writer related a tedious 
story of disagreements and petty jealousies be- 
tween a neighboring colleague and himself, which 
had lately culminated in the spreading of malicious 
and damaging reports concerning his reputation 
and morality. As the letter proceeded it be- 
came more and more complicated and obscure, 
the main issue being entirely forgotten in a maze 
of circumstantial evidence of the most trivial 
description. It appeared, however, that some 
years before the writer had enticed to his 
service the cook of his present enemy, and 


The Star of The Thousand 


5 

that this indelicate action was the fans el origo 
belli, 

Don Paolino listened to the weary recital, vent- 
ing his feelings by sundry groans and occasionally 
pursing up his big lips as if he were going to 
whistle. But at the end of the letter, when the 
writer begged the Bishop to rebuke the calumni- 
ator as those living in glass houses could not 
afford to throw stones, the secretary restrained 
himself no longer. 

'‘Phew-w-w-w! What an ass! What an ass, 
I say!’' he cried in his loudest voice, and as Mon- 
signore looked up, evidently surprised and a little 
displeased at the sally, Don Paolino continued 
argumentatively: ‘^What business had this fool 
to wheedle a good cook from a colleague’s home? 
Of course the other is indignant, and as in these 
parts we never forget or forgive, there’s trouble! 
What does your Excellency intend to do? If I 
were you, I’d wash my hands of the whole silly 
affair, and let the two fight it out, for it’s clear 
that one is about as bad as the other!” 

The moral issue underlying the dispute did not 
seem to worry Don Paolino: evidently he took it 
for granted that indiscretions had been committed 
on both sides, and was neither shocked nor grieved 
at the thought. It never struck his very relative 


6 Monsignor Villarosa 

conception of morality that a great ethical im- 
portance could be attached to what he considered 
merely as the fatal consequences of sex. But 
Monsignore, though accustomed to the elemental 
views of his secretary, could not refrain from 
indignantly reminding him of the vows all priests 
must take — aye, and keep, cost what it may! 
Paolino’s mind was obdurate on that point: to 
him the Bishop’s severe reproof was the outcome 
of the superhuman saintliness of his master, whose 
perfection was to be admired and wondered at, 
though it remained quite unattainable to common 
clay. Thereupon, he expressed this opinion so 
imperturbably that Monsignore had to laugh 
outright, and said: 

“Well, well! Just order them both to appear 
before me. You, Paolino, are nothing else but a 
hard-hearted sceptical sinner, and, though as 
good and pure as any priest needs be, you affect 
to disbelieve that others may live just as you do!” 

“Oh! I? I have no merit whatever about it. 
With me it’s constitutional. Monsignore knows 

that women and I ” Paolino emphatically 

asserted. 

“S-s-s-s-s!” the Bishop hastily interrupted. 
“You are incorrigible! I blush to hear you!” 

It was true : the old gentleman had flushed rosy 


The Star of The Thousand 


7 


red. His silver-white curls, which (with no little 
vanity, it was whispered) he wore rather long, 
made a most becoming frame to his clear-cut 
features, his delicate skin, and large brown eyes, 
remarkably childlike and trustful. Though near- 
ing the ominous “threescore and ten,” he had 
not lost the lithe elegance of his figure nor 
his guileless simplicity. It was impossible to 
approach him without falling under his mag- 
netic charm, which derived its power from the 
fact that it was totally natural and unconsciously 
exercised. 

A resolute and sincere enemy of all shams, 
Guido Villarosa^s priestly life had been so noble 
and exemplary that the poisoned breath of scandal, 
always ready to sully even the purest, had never 
found one vulnerable spot in his armor of virtue. 
On that account, no one understood how, with 
such eminent qualities combined with his great 
name and large fortune, he had not rapidly risen 
to the highest ecclesiastical honors. Why on 
earth was he not Archbishop of Milan, and, of 
course. Cardinal? No one could teU. Villarosa 
himself was silent on this topic, and the few busy- 
bodies who had dared to broach it never forgot 
the ominous flash of his eyes nor the haughty 
fashion with which he had cut short their leading 


8 Monsignor Villarosa 

questions. It was evident that, underlying his 
delicate sweetness, the historic ^‘Villarosa temper** 
lurked still, not wholly overcome by the last scion 
of that fine old race of warriors. 

The conversation then drifted into another 
channel : Monsignore*s nephew and godson, Guido 
Calvello, was expected next day, to spend at the 
villa his eight weeks* furlough. They were joy- 
fully looking forward to this visit, and the Bishop 
spoke so tenderly of his *^boy’* that no one could 
doubt he was the very apple of his eye. Yoimg 
Guido was the only child of Villarosa*s sister, 
who, unfortunately, had died at his birth. Her 
husband had remarried, as expected, for he had 
lost his lovely wife when not yet thirty-five. 
Thoroughly upright and conscientious. Count 
Calvello was, however, very opinionated and 
rather selfish, and never pardoned the boy for 
having innocently caused the death of his mother. 
Later, the father *s second marriage, his many 
other children, novel and different affections and 
cares, had widened the breach. 

Villarosa, then Curato of Corgeno, had insisted 
that the child should be entrusted to his care. 
A nurse became indispensable, and this was most 
inconvenient in Turin, the home of the Calvellos. 
The young widower had no near female relatives, 


The Star of The Thousand 


9 


and was in no state of mind to be bothered by 
nurses and babies. So the tiny Guido was handed 
over to his uncle, and brought to live in Corgeno. 
The ancestral home of the Villarosas then wit- 
nessed the unusual sight of a priest sedulously 
tending a nursling, and many a stranger passing 
before its gates must have smiled and wondered 
at the distinguished-looking ecclesiastic carefully 
holding a sunshade over a lusty baby tumbling 
about on a rug spread over the lawn in front of 
the old house. But all who knew Villarosa were 
neither shocked nor surprised: it was ^‘just him 
all over,*’ and what more could be said? 

The “boy ” had ever since lived with his uncle, 
who supervised his early training with the most 
intelligent devotion. Don Paolino had naturally 
become the child’s willing slave, his playmate, 
and, later, his assistant teacher. When Guido 
developed into a tall, strong, and healthy lad his 
disposition for a military career became self- 
evident: the fighting blood of the Villarosas was 
demonstrated by his talent in marshalling the 
boys of Corgeno into a band, whose exploits 
against adjoining villages soon distressed and ter- 
rified his uncle. He scolded and even seriously 
punished the child each time he returned from 
these hazardous expeditions, tattered and triumph- 


10 Monsignor Villarosa 

ant, but it was all useless, so, after much delibera- 
tion, it was decided that Guido should be sent to 
the Military Institute in Milan for his education. 
At college the boy did extremely well : from the 
first he took the head of his class, and soon became 
a prime favorite with his teachers and compan- 
ions. As he had a good scientific and mathema- 
tical turn of mind, Guido chose the Horse Artillery, 
and in due time passed out lieutenant, being 
destined to the crack regiment stationed in Milan. 

Guido fully kept the promise he had given: 
he had grown to be a manly, fearlessly sincere 
and upright gentleman, passionately attached to 
his profession. He had kept aloof from the vices 
of his age and class by an inborn detestation for 
all that is low, and also by a genuine religious 
sentiment sedulously but unobtrusively fostered 
in the boy’s heart by his uncle. In spite of this, 
he was by no means a self-righteous prig ; on the 
contrary, he was brimming over with vitality and 
fun, the first to get into a scrape, and the first 
also to know how to get out of it. And the ladies 
of the Milanese smart set” were all smiles and 
advances for the handsome and wealthy young 
officer, who was by no means a laggard in taking 
full advantage of his opportunities. 

Such was “the boy” whom the two priests 


The Star of The Thousand 


II 


expected so anxiously, and for whose comfort 
they were planning. Monsignore was just dis- 
cussing the quantity of hay needed for Guido’s 
horses when he abruptly stopped short; his sharp 
ears (or was it not rather the intuition of a loving 
heart?) had perceived a faint rumble of wheels. 
In a second he was convinced that it must be a 
cab from the railway-station, and that his nephew 
had anticipated his arrival by twenty-four hours. 

“It’s Guido! It’s Guido!” he cried in a wild 
flutter of joy, notwithstanding the obstinate denials 
of Don Paolino, who, in his heart, was sore at the 
thought that he was not then in the hall, the first 
to greet the welcome guest. With juvenile alac- 
rity Villarosa rose from his seat, when rapid steps 
and the clatter of a sword checked him; the door 
was tumultuously burst open, a tall, handsome 
young officer rushed into the study, and, without 
ceremony, fairly hugged the stately prelate. 

“My Ziggio! My Ziggio! I stole a march 
upon you ! I am here not to move for eight whole 
weeks! Isn’t that good, eh? Don Paolino, as 
soon as I have done with Ziggio, you are going to 
catch it!” 

Monsignore could not find words nor even the 
breath to utter them; the rapture of seeing his 
“boy,” of feeling the loving pressure of those 


12 Monsignor Villarosa 

strong arms, was overpowering. He could only 
caress the bronzed cheeks of the officer with his 
trembling fingers, but nothing could have been 
more eloquent than his silence. Young Guido, 
however, instinctively aware that a too prolonged 
emotion might harm his highly strung and delicate 
relative, gently led him back to his arm-chair, and, 
having carefully ensconced him in its capacious 
depths, grasped Don Paolino’s hand, shaking it 
vigorously, and demanded a full report of the 
Roccolo, as he knew that the snaring of wild birds 
with nets was the grande passion of his old friend. 
So Monsignore in a while regained his usual com- 
posure, and chatted gaily about domestic topics, 
occasionally inquiring about his nephew’s doings. 

Suddenly Don Paolino, looking thoroughly dis- 
gusted, explained: ^‘And to think that we cannot 
even dine by ourselves the very first day of your 
arrival! Isn’t it provoking, your Excellency? 
We have Don Felice, of La Cascinetta, the Pre- 
vosto of Somma, and the Curato of Casbenno! 
Pah-h-h! What a nuisance!” 

Villarosa made a wry face; he had forgotten all 
about this dinner, but Guido, who did not relish 
the prospect, chimed in: “What! My pet aver- 
sions? That black-faced, sinister individual, 
Ranzi, and that mountainous glutton, Tortoni, not 


The Star of The Thousand 


13 


to mention that unbearable idiot, Don Eusebio? 
It’s a nice home-coming, and no mistake! What 
on earth induced you to invite them, Ziggio?” 
This pet name “Ziggio,” which sounded so fre- 
quently and rather peculiarly on the lips of the 
stalwart officer, had been coined by him, when, 
still a lisping baby, he stumbled over the perplex- 
ing sounds of ‘'Zio Guido”: he had used it ever 
since, and it had become extremely dear to both 
of them. 

Monsignore, as in duty bound, gently rebuked 
them for their lack of hospitality, adding that it 
was very wrong for any one to entertain prejudices 
against fellow-men simply because their faces 
failed to suit one’s taste. Quite penitently they 
listened to the little sermon, but when Guido 
blurted out suddenly that notwithstanding all he 
said. Monsignore was quite as much annoyed as 
they were, the old gentleman, in spite of himself, 
had to laugh outright. 

After a while the Bishop escorted Guido to his 
quarters, and leaving him to his toilet, went down 
to the reception-rooms on the ground-floor, a 
stately suite of apartments, decorated in the florid 
style of the eighteenth century. As he came 
through the hall he distinctly heard the booming 
ypice of the Prevosto, the steely snap of Don 


14 Monsignor Villarosa 

Felice’s tones, and the high-pitched, squeaky tenor 
of the Curato of Casbenno. Unconsciously Mon- 
signore shrugged his shoulders, as much as to say 
that he must grin and bear it, and so he entered 
the drawing-room, courteously excusing himself 
to his guests for not being present to receive them, 
but the unexpected arrival of his nephew for the 
holidays had detained him upstairs. 

The three priests chorused their delight at the 
news, and Don Felice, in his grating voice, re- 
marked: ‘‘What an exemplary young man is the 
Contino — quite exemplary! He prefers to come 
to this house of penance and prayer rather than 
amuse himself in the gay cities as other men of 
his age and profession!” 

, Monsignore looked at Don Felice with a whim- 
sical twinkle in his eye, and then softly replied: 
“I trust that this is a house of prayer; as to its 
being a house of penance, let us hope it is not 
quite as you say, for surely none of you would 
relish it just at the dinner hour! Is it not so, my 
dear Prevosto?” 

“Per Bacco, I hope not!” the Prevosto boomed 
out with an explosion of laughter which shook 
him all over. “His Excellency’s cook has nothing 
to do with penances fortunately, and you, Don 
Felice, know it quite as well as I do!” 


The Star of The Thousand 


15 


The conversation rolled on, sustained with 
admirable patience by the host, who did not seem, 
however, to relish its subjects overmuch, for, in 
spite of his efforts to lift it to a more intellectual 
level, it invariably sank back into the pettiest 
clerical small talk when it did not, through the 
venomous insinuations of Don Felice, become 
tainted with scandal of the most objectionable 
description. This, fortunately, was sternly cut 
short by Monsignore, who more than once had 
to control himself not to upbraid his guest for 
the slanders he attempted to disseminate. 

After a while Don Paolino hurried in and took 
at once a leading part in the conversation, thus 
giving his master, much to his relief, a badly 
needed rest. The secretary’s advent, however, 
injected a polemical tone into the discussion, for 
he pitched into Don Felice as soon as he broached 
some tasty on dit, and they at once were engaged 
in a battle royal, underlined at each of its phases 
by the guffaws of the Prevosto and the joyful 
squeaks of Don Eusebio. Finally, Guido having 
joined them, the butler announced that the dinner 
was served, and with the Bishop on his nephew’s 
arm at the head of the procession, they paired 
off to the dining-room, a fine hall with four French 
windows opening on to the lovely old-time garden. 


i6 Monsignor Villarosa 

one mass of blossoming plants, and now quietly 
sleeping in the bright moonlight. The table, 
laid for six, was a picture of refined elegance with 
the costly damasked linen and sparkling glass, 
while the historic Villarosa silver glittered in 
profusion everywhere. 

The dinner itself was perfection : quite substan- 
tial enough to satisfy the appetite of the Prevosto, 
who guzzled conscientiously, and of Don Felice, 
who, though less omnivorous, tasted everything 
with the sour grimace of a dyspeptic epicure bent 
upon detecting crdinary blunders. During the 
opening courses, as is generally the case, conver- 
sation lagged, but the young officer very soon re- 
vived it. He mischievously decoyed the Cimato 
of Casbenno into it for the sake of hearing that 
worthy stumble over the difficult words he affected, 
and this with such a success of hilarity that Mon- 
signore more than once was obliged to frown ex- 
pressively to recall Guido to order. But Don 
Eusebio was fairly launched, and nothing could 
stop him, so he rambled on and on, indiscriminately 
holding forth de omni re scihili until Don Paolino 
impatiently cut him short by addressing Guido: 

‘*Do you know that the Villa Meroni has been 
rented at last? Three days ago I saw large vans 
of furniture on its grounds.” 


The Star of The Thousand 


17 


Unabashed, Don Eusebio at once took up the 
debate: ‘'Yes, Contino, it has been let to a lady, 
a widow, I think, by name Leoni, or something 
like it. I got a glimpse of her, but as she was 
hernestically veiled and in an automobile I cannot 
tell you what she looks like.” 

This piece of news was by no means pleasing 
to the Bishop, to whom the building for specula- 
tion on the adjacent grounds overlooking his 
garden had ever been a very sore subject, so, after 
the laugh produced by Don Eusebio's hernestically 
veiled lady, the subject was dropped by tacit 
consent. 

Finally the dinner ended. Don Paolino, well 
aware that his beloved master was longing to have 
a private chat with his nephew undisturbed by 
their cackle, loudly proposed a game of billiards, 
and accordingly the four priests departed in high 
glee, while Monsignore, ebony cane in hand and 
leaning upon Guido's arm, slowly walked to a 
rose-covered arbor which, from a commanding 
height, overlooked the high-road and the lake, 
and there they sat down together. The air was 
balmy and soft; the full moon filled the beautiful 
landscape with its rays, and made the lazy ripples 
of the lake sparkle as molten silver. For a while 
both were silent, enjoying the lovely view, and, 


i8 Monsignor Villarosa 

above all, the feeling of being once more together. 
Then Guido, as in a monologue, talked by snatches 
of his life during the last months : 

have worked — no, not too hard, Ziggio, no 
danger of that! I raced the bay mare you gave 
me, and won a fine cup. The stately Duchess of 
Terralba, who presented the prizes, said I must 
be sure to tell you not to forget her in your prayers 
— looked as if she needed them badly, eh? She 
added that you must be a terribly rigid uncle, 
and as I laughed she remarked that she had 
visited you in the spring and never would forget 
it, either, so I suppose 

He stopped short as Monsignore, well aware of 
what the “boy’' meant, had uttered a “Guido!” 
replete with warning. Unabashed, however, the 
young officer went on : 

“It must have been a choice gallery of souve- 
nirs! How you must have blushed, my poor 
Ziggio! I can see you now!” Then, detecting 
a more serious danger signal in his uncle’s eyes, 
he at once proceeded to mollify him: “Speaking 
of my work, we have had lately some very inter- 
esting lectures at the military club. One was about 
the campaign of ‘The Thousand’ in Sicily. They 
handed us a printed list of their names, with those 
of the killed and wounded, and, do you know. 


The Star of The Thousand 


19 


Ziggio, I found an extraordinary coincidence. 
One of them is called just as you — ‘Guido Villa- 
rosa, dangerously wounded at Palermo.^ Who 
can he be? We stayed prudently at home . . . 
we never fought for Italy. I fear, in fact, that 
our family was very much on the wrong side!” 

As he uttered these words in a careless and 
somewhat bitter tone, he instinctively looked up, 
and, to his dismay, saw his uncle towering over 
him passionately brandishing his cane ; the Bishop 
had turned deathly pale, and his labomed breath 
came and went by gasps. Thoroughly frightened, 
Guido would have asked what ailed him, but, with 
an imperious gesture. Monsignore silenced him. 

“It is best you should know, boy,” Villarosa 
said in a low, distinct, thrilling voice. “Yes, at 
once. We Villarosas on the wrong side? We 
stay-at-homes? No, no! The living one did his 
duty! Look!” and convulsively the Bishop tore 
open his cassock and shirt. In the moonlight 
Guido saw a deep, angry-looking scar on his 
uncle's chest, and, close to it, on a thin chain, the 
five-pointed “Star of The Thousand.” 

With a stifled cry of awe, of joy, of surprise, 
and of admiration Guido leaped to his feet, a per- 
fect storm of question on his lips, but the old man, 
recovering his self-possession, silenced him again, 


20 Monsignor Villarosa 

“I will tell you all, but not to-night: I could not 
now. In the morning you will hear my Hfe^s 
story. Lead me to my room. Inform our guests 
that I felt tired and unwell, and ask them to excuse 
me. Now, come!’’ 

Guido silently obeyed. Ascending a private 
staircase, they reached Monsignore’s bedroom 
without meeting any one. At the door, impul- 
sively, the young officer bent slowly his knee be- 
fore the Bishop, and kissed his delicate hand as 
if it were something sacred. Monsignore lovingly 
caressed the upturned brow, murmuring a blessing, 
and without another word they parted. 

Early next morning Monsignore celebrated his 
usual Mass in the chapel of the villa, a simple and 
unostentatious oratorio^ unadorned save by a 
great crucifix on the tiny altar and an admirable 
picture of Mary Magdalen at the feet of the Sav- 
iour. The bareness of this chapel was one of the 
chief grievances entertained by the Zelanti, as the 
over-zealous faction of the Italian clergy is called, 
for they resented the absence of stained-glass 
windows and gaudily colored statues. 

At the Mass, served by Don Paolino, only the 
inmates of the household were present: Guido, 
who on account of '‘his many duties, military and 
otherwise,” was not much of a church-goer when 


The Star of The Thousand 


21 


in town, never failed to be there when at Casbenno, 
knowing that his absence would grieve his uncle, 
even if he never mentioned the fact. And after the 
startling discovery of Monsignore's past, the young 
officer felt more than ever an overflowing tenderness 
for the man who not only was an example of those 
noble virtues he had been taught to revere, but at 
the same time one of Italy's purest heroes. That 
none of the Villarosas had taken part in the wars 
and revolutions of the Risorgimento had been for 
young Guido the source of many sterile and bitter 
regrets, and his uncle's revelation had now filled the 
boy's heart with elation and pride. After Mass, 
the Bishop, still very pale, and bearing visible 
traces of a sleepless night, was closeted a long time 
with Guido. Calmly, almost cheerfully, he revealed 
to his nephew the history of his life in terms so 
quiet and unostentatious that the narrative be- 
came wondrously dramatic and poignant, and re- 
mained indelibly impressed in Guido's memory. 

The Bishop's father, Conte Ottavio Villarosa, 
by his own choice an officer in the Italian regi- 
ments of the Austrian army, while garrisoned at 
Linz, had married an Austrian lady, and had been 
killed in December, 1850, during an obscure 
encounter with one of the still active bands of 
Hungarian ''rebels," in distant Transylvania. 


22 


Monsignor Villarosa 


The Bishop was then nine years old; his sister 
was born seven months after her father’s death, 
so they both had been educated by their mother, 
an enthusiastic Austrian patriot, to revere Kaiser 
Franz- Joseph and hate the Italian revolution- 
aries. But, unfortimately for her, the young 
widow could not possibly return, as it was her 
one great desire, to her native Linz, for she was 
a portionless orphan, had absolutely no relatives, 
and the very large fortune of her husband con- 
sisted exclusively of landed estates in Lombardy. 
So in Lombardy she needs must live. Her boy 
was sent to a good school in Milan, with the under- 
standing that as soon as he reached the prescribed 
age he would enter the Theresianeum in Vienna, 
being entitled to a place in this very exclusive 
and aristocratic military institute as a nobleman 
and the son of an Austrian officer fallen on the field. 

But the poor lady had not reckoned with the 
overpowering breath of new life filtering through 
the length and breadth of Italy. At the school 
her boy frequented teachers and pupils were all 
without exception ardent patriots, and the fact 
that the new boy was the son of an Italian killed 
voluntarily fighting the Hungarians, and of an 
Austrian mother, caused him to be considered 
almost as a pariah. The boy’s parentage was 


The Star of The Thousand 


23 


continually thrown in his face as an insult. His 
fierce, passionate temper involved him in daily 
fights with his comrades, though his great pride 
prevented him from complaining to his mother 
of the persecution to which he was subjected. 
She, poor woman, had many troubles of her own. 
She was, of course, boycotted by almost all the 
Milanese nobility, and her remarkable beauty, 
together with an extremely religious and retiring 
disposition, greatly intensified by the loss of her 
husband, prevented her from frequenting the 
Austrian garrison society, as the free, audacious, 
and not too restrained courtships of the officers 
greatly frightened and distressed her. 

Unexpectedly, a young teacher of Guido's 
school. Carlo Bonoris by name, interested and 
touched by the child’s Ishmael-like isolation, 
patiently and lovingly undertook to explain to the 
poor boy the causes of this treatment. To the 
child this came as a revelation: a new world, new 
aspirations and hopes were disclosed to his won- 
dering eyes, but the evolution of his mind was 
gradual and so slow that he was hardly aware of 
it. By the time Guido was fourteen, the change in 
his ideas was complete, and even deeper than he 
knew. He felt this in all its bitter intensity when 
he remembered that next year he must enter the 


24 Monsignor Villarosa 

Theresianeum. The poor boy was then confronted 
with the terrible problem of confessing his new feel- 
ings to his mother, an Austrian born, who, very nat- 
urally, would resent this unexpected shattering of 
all her hopes and ideals as an unpardonable insult. 

The tremendous dilemma in which Villarosa 
found himself, wholly unprepared and alone, pre- 
sented no loophole of escape. It was clearly an 
imcompromising choice between his love for his 
mother and his love for Italy; for seemingly un- 
ending months he underwent in silence a torture 
which might well have killed even a stronger 
temperament, racking his brain in the hopeless 
quest of a solution. No one suspected the for- 
midable struggle which took place in the depths 
of that boyish soul, and he withstood the ordeal 
without even a friend in whom to confide his agony. 

Suddenly, as the time was getting very short 
and a decision imperative, a ray of light pierced 
the awful darkness through which he was groping: 
why not study for the Church? From his earliest 
childhood he had been reared in the deepest 
religious sentiments, and an inborn vein of mysti- 
cism gave more than apparent excuse to his pur- 
pose. Of course then he had a very hazy and 
confused conception of what priesthood stood for, 
and he freely admitted that his decision had been 


The Star of The Thousand 25 


undoubtedly due to the anxiety of escaping the 
Austrian military school without the dreaded 
ordeal of proclaiming his patriotic aspirations; 
but he also added that, allowing even for his youth 
and solitude, he had committed then one of the 
gravest sins of his life, the vocation he had pre- 
tended to feel being nothing else but a sham and 
a cowardly lie. The fact that he was a mere boy, 
without friends or advisers, did not minimise in 
the least his guilt ; but at that time he very rapidly 
convinced himself that this vocation was most 
genuine and ardent. 

The widowed Contessa, though undoubtedly 
very much disappointed, was by no means dis- 
posed to resist the passionately expressed aspira- 
tions of her son: after the Kaiser’s service, she 
knew of no more desirable or nobler calling than 
that of the Church. Mother and son had long 
and earnest conversations for over a week, during 
which it was an easy task to convince, and even 
fire with enthusiasm, her simple and plastic soul, 
so the Contessa, after cautioning him against the 
uncontrollable temper he inherited from his Villa- 
rosa ancestry, easily and readily gave her consent. 
Thus, without opposition, Guido Villarosa entered 
the Seminario Arcivescovile of Milan, and began 
the studies of his chosen career. 


26 Monsignor Villarosa 

He found there a very different atmosphere to 
that of his first school, and if he had imagined 
for a moment that he would be able to combine 
religion and patriotism, his dream did not last for 
long. The pupils might have been patriotic 
enough in their aspirations, those at least who 
were capable of any other than those of the flesh, 
but the strictest of disciplines prevented any 
outward demonstrations, and most of their su- 
periors were the fiercest and most irreconcilable 
opponents of the country’s unification. So the 
youth was compelled to keep his feelings to himself. 

But fortunately his old teacher and friend 
visited him frequently, as the Contessa, who now 
resided permanently at Corgeno and was ac- 
quainted with Bonoris, had begged him to look 
after her son during the shorter holidays. The 
intimacy deriving from this intercourse intensified 
Guido’s patriotism, but, on the other hand, the 
years in the Seminario Arcivescovile strengthened 
his artificial vocation, as habit and imitation are 
the greatest moulders of the soul, especially 
when very young. 

In 1859, the war and the liberation of Lombardy 
found young Villarosa a strong, healthy deacon 
of eighteen, who had already taken the inferior 
orders and had been tonsured, so advanced in his 


The Star of The Thousand 27 


studies and so much thought of by his teachers 
that, had it not been for the canonic impediment 
of age, he could have been ordained. When the 
victorious Franco-Piedmontese troops entered 
Milan, even the sleepy old Seminario seemed con- 
vulsed by an overpowering burst of patriotism: 
its inmates stood before the peculiar-looking gate 
on the Corso and madly cheered the soldiers as 
they marched by, Guido the most frantically of 
them all. His exultation knew no bounds, but 
the sudden thought that his poor mother at Cor- 
geno must be distracted over the defeat of her 
compatriots cast a profound gloom over his joy. 

As the summer vacation began just when Milan 
was liberated, Guido went to take his seat in the 
diligence for Varese, the only means of reaching 
Corgeno, as there was no railway then. Turning 
a corner he almost collided with a soldier in the 
well-known uniform of the Cacciatori delle Alpi, 
or Garibaldians. It was his friend Bonoris, of 
whom he had completely lost sight during some 
months, and his bandaged arm proved that he had 
been in the thick of the fray. In a few glowing 
words Bonoris narrated his campaign, spoke of the 
General with worshipping enthusiasm, and finally 
asked Guido if now he was not going to throw off 
the cassock, as there were still many more battles 


28 Monsignor Villarosa 

to be fought for Italy, and he was just the boy 
according to Garibaldi’s heart. 

Guido departed with head and heart afire. 
During the whole of the slow journey he tortured 
his brain, seeking helplessly the way of liberating 
himself. At Corgeno he found his mother sadder, 
more despondent, and more ailing than ever. The 
defeat of the Austrians, the triumph of the hated 
Piedmontese, and the conviction that Lombardy, 
for the moment at least, was lost to her Emperor, 
had totally overcome her. One only consolation 
remained: her son had providentially chosen the 
ecclesiastical career, and thus would escape serv- 
ing the new Government. The sight of this 
despairing woman and her morbid frame of mind 
irretrievably shattered all of Guido’s plans. 
Clearly, to disclose his secret might have killed 
his mother. He must, then, go on hiding the 
truth from her. Was this a second sin? Perhaps 
not, but it was, at any rate, the fatal consequence 
of his previous cowardice. 

The holidays dragged along, and early in autumn 
Guido returned to the seminary. The ensuing 
months were one long, cruel fight between duty 
and inclination. The air itself was pregnant with 
a warlike enthusiasm, and yet he was bound by 
his oath and by his love for his mother to languish 


The Star of The Thousand 29 


in his self-inflicted fetters. But each day the 
temptation grew stronger, almost irresistible. 
Bonoris, who often visited him and was wholly 
unconscious of the youth’s mental struggle, told 
him of all the hopes and plans of the patriots, 
thus adding fuel to the Are. Guido, forced to 
hide his doubts and anguish from all eyes, was on 
the brink of utter despair. 

One memorable day, a Sunday of the end of 
April, Bonoris, as usual, came to visit him. Really 
it was to say good-bye”; a few days more and 
he would be in Genoa, ready to follow his General, 
who was secretly preparing an expedition in aid 
of the Sicilians, once more in arms against the 
hated Bourbons. Was it not glorious to go and 
flght for Unity? The fierce enthusiasm which 
made his voice tremble, the ardent words mad- 
dened the boy; Guido forgot his mother, his oath, 
his duty, and passionately implored Bonoris to 
take him too. The older man had never guessed 
that such would be the effect of his words : Guido, 
no doubt, was and would remain a priest. Bonoris, 
much troubled and distressed, demurred, pointing 
out the grave consequences of a rash decision. 
But all was useless, and as, after all, Bonoris 
considered that he was acting patriotically and 
wisely by snatching Guido from a calling for which 


30 Monsignor Villarosa 

he had scant sympathy, he finally consented. In 
a few brief sentences it was settled that Guido, 
two days later, should slip out of the Seminario, 
hastening to his friend’s lodgings near by, where 
he would find clothes and a few thousand lire, 
gladly lent by a bill-discounter to the heir of the 
Villarosas. All went smoothly, and without any 
difficulty they were able to join a group of Lom- 
bards hurrying to Genoa. These at once nick- 
named Guido il pretino (“the little priest”), on 
account of his visible tonsure and shy demeanor, 
and imder that name and no other he was hence- 
forth known. Accepted as a volunteer, the 
pretino was one of “The Thousand” who sailed 
from Quarto on May 4, i860. 

From that hour Guido lost almost all track of 
time and events and lived in a wonderful dream. 
The landing at Marsala, the march amid the wild 
enthusiasm of the islanders, he could remember 
but confusedly. On the ever glorious 14th of 
May he and Bonoris, with Carini’s company, 
found themselves in the foremost skirmishing line 
under the fierce fire of the Neapolitan troops 
entrenched on the formidable heights of Calata- 
fimini. They were among the first who ascended 
step by step that gigantic stairway of rocks. At 
the last spurt, still imscathed and together, they 


The Star of The Thousand 31 


found themselves in a small hollow separated from 
the rest and almost hemmed in by half a dozen 
men. A terrible hand-to-hand encounter ensued: 
Bonoris fell, never to rise again, pierced by num- 
berless wounds. Guido, maddened at the loss of 
his friend, drunk with the fierce lust of battle, and 
suddenly endowed with superhuman strength, 
single-handed bayoneted the three men besetting 
him with such murderous energy and flaming 
eyes that the rest turned and fled. His comrades 
found him begrimed, exhausted, and covered with 
blood, trying to infuse life in his friend’s corpse. 
They carried the pretino shoulder high to Garibaldi 
who complimented him as one of the bravest of 
that band of heroes. 

Immediately after the battle his tremendous 
nervous excitement died out, and the loss of Bonoris 
plunged him into despair. His shattered nerves 
filled his brain with visions : the distorted features 
of the strong men he had killed, their awful death- 
throes, even the feeling of their warm blood 
spurting over him, haunted him incessantly. He 
became haggard and wan, almost spectral, and 
thus unconsciously struggled through the exhaust- 
ing marches and countermarches by which Gari- 
baldi reached the gates of Palermo. How he had 
resisted the bodily fatigue and mental anguish 


32 Monsignor Villarosa 

was incomprehensible, but now he attributed it 
to God's will so that he should atone for his sins. 

At the storming of the Ponte dell’Ammiraglio 
a shell knocked him down with his ehest gashed 
open by a terrible wound, and he was left for dead 
on the spot. At this point of his story the Bishop 
was silent for a moment, then he continued: 
“When I re-acquired my senses I found myself 
in one of the beds of the Palermo hospital, alive 
by a sheer miraele, so weak that I could not move : 
for two months I had hovered 'twixt life and death. 
The chaplain, hearing of my return to conscious- 
ness, came at once to confess me, for I might have 
died at any moment. Then, as in a flash, the 
whole past came back to me. I had infringed my 
oath, I had disobeyed, offended, grieved my 
mother, and after swearing to be meek and pious, 
I had killed, ay, killed with mine own hands ! All 
of this I told the priest in broken whispers. The 
austere, rigid man, unspeakably horrified, absolved 
me conditionally, as I was in imminent danger of 
death, but, if I lived, I must return to the Semi- 
nario and submit to any penanee that might be 
pronounced upon me. At my request the priest 
wrote to my mother, interceding for my pardon: 
in fear and expectation I waited for the result. 
Two weeks elapsed, and yet no reply. I was 


The Star of The Thousand 33 


slowly recovering, and could sit up in bed for an 
hour or two when one day the chaplain came, pale, 
grave, almost threatening. Silently he handed 
me a letter. It was written by our agent. Truly, 
my punishment had overtaken me! When my 
mother had heard of my flight from the Seminario, 
and whereto bound, she had fallen senseless to 
the ground, and, never recovering consciousness 
again, had died on the 14th of May, almost at the 
same hou/ in which I was wallowing in the blood 
of my fellow-men! ‘Qui de gladio ferit, de gladio 
perit ’ was written on the wall before me in letters 
of Are, and I fell into a dead faint. After another 
tremendous struggle for life I again recovered, 
and returned to Corgeno, the prey of remorse and 
despair. On my mother’s grave I wrestled with 
the temptation to enter the world and assume the 
position to which my name and fortune entitled 
me. But the thought of my mother, killed by 
me, as ruthlessly as I had bayoneted my foes, 
could not be stilled. After six months of this 
torture, I threw myself at the feet of the Arch- 
bishop of Milan to abide by his decision. I must 
return to the Church, and, as no one had connected 
my name with ‘ The Thousand, ’ nothing would be 
said. After a year’s rigid penance, I was absolved 
and ordained, and obtained my request to be sent 


34 Monsignor Villarosa 

as Curato to Corgeno. But my love for Italy 
never grew less ; I was offered high preferments in 
Rome but refused them all; I could not join the 
opposers of Italy’s union. Later an Archbishop 
of Milan, who loved Italy as well as I did, prevailed 
upon me to accept this see. Higher I will never 
ascend. I am marked as a * Liberal’ at Rome. 
Though the world generally ignores that I am the 
Guido Villarosa of ‘The Thousand,’ at Rome 
they know it well, and that is sufficient. This 
is my secret which I now confide to you. I have 
sought to expiate; have I succeeded? It was 
only your speaking of us Villarosas as ‘stay-at- 
homes’ that fired my wicked temper . . . and 
so I thought it wiser to tell you all.” 

The young officer listened to the Bishop with 
profound sympathy. The description of the fight 
had kept him breathless, but he could not fathom 
the subtle causes of his uncle’s decision to return 
to the Church. At any rate, the confession served 
to strengthen even more the bonds of love which 
united Monsignor Villarosa and his nephew. 


CHAPTER II 


THE BAY OF A HOUND 

An uneventful week passed by and then Mon- 
signore must visit the prosperous village of Gavi- 
rate, at the other end of the lake, as he did every 
year. A new church was to be consecrated with 
the attendance of a large number of priests and a 
vast crowd of the faithful. So, one morning early, 
the neat but quietly appointed landau, with 
coachman and footman in the dark-green Villarosa 
liveries, was ready for the ten-mile drive, and 
the Bishop accompanied by Don Paolino de- 
parted, leaving Guido alone in poss^fesion. 

At the Prevostura or Rural Deanery of Gavirate 
over thirty priests were congregated, and the 
Prevosto, a meek little man, with a cast in one 
eye and greatly disfigured by pock-marks, was 
busily entertaining his guests. A noisy hubbub 
of conversation buzzed in the large but uncom- 
fortable-looking hall, the snappy tones of Don 
Felice Ranzi often rising above the din. 

35 


36 Monsignor Villarosa 

The company had automatically divided itself 
into three groups. In one corner a dozen or so 
of the younger clergy were hanging, so to say, 
from the lips of the Curato of Lomazzo, Don 
Davide Capelletti, already famous for his fluent, 
aggressive eloquence, his rather bright intelli- 
gence, and unbounded ambition. He was holding 
forth about the most burning questions of the day, 
freely dipping into politics. 

“It is all very right and proper that, on general 
principles, we should follow the big bugs of Rome, 
although — humph! But, as to oiu* local affairs, 
we are acquainted with the existing conditions a 
thousand times better than they are. We cannot 
allow them to lead us eternally, as if we were 
babies! We must be of our time, eschew dead 
issues, and mix more in active political life, or we 
are certainly done for. Let the past bury its 
dead. We are alive, and why should we not rule 
Italy yet?** 

At this point one of his friends, poking him 
suddenly in the ribs, remarked in a cautious under- 
tone to look out for “that spy, Ranzi,** who was 
hovering around, and might get him into trouble. 

“Into trouble!** Don Davide sniffed contemptu- 
ously. “Why, he is welcome to listen. I have 
nothing to hide ! Only a few days ago I challenged 


37 


The Bay of a Hound 

the Socialists of my parts to a debate, and you 
all know how keen and clever they are ; well, I hit 
them so hard that the following Sunday two- 
thirds of them came to Mass. And the result is 
that on many topics, such as land laws and class 
legislation, we are in perfect accord. The workers 
are shamefully treated, that’s positive, and as 
there is a formidable movement preparing in their 
midst, why should not we, the pastors of the flock, 
be the heads and moving spirits of it all?” 

In another comer of the room the Prevosto 
Ranzi, and most of the older priests, were con- 
versing on very different subjects; the hundredth 
recital of the same old clerical saws, twisted and 
turned, over and over again. These men were 
certainly not agitated by social or political prob- 
lems; they belonged to another school and to 
another epoch with a very inferior instruction 
and no education worth mentioning. As long as 
they were allowed to take life easily and lazily, 
without worrying a jot about the high ethical 
questions involved in their pastoral duties, they 
were content to jog along in their merely animal 
lives. The Church, for them, was a profession in 
which there was mighty little to do, and which 
enabled them to rule despotically in their restricted 
circle. So when Don Felice returned to them he 


38 Monsignor Villarosa 

was greatly nettled by what he had heard, and 
silenced them all by venomously murmuring: 

“That Don Davide, with his speeches and pub- 
lic debates, he will make a mess of it, sooner or 
later! His Excellency will treat him as he richly 
deserves, I’m sure. His aspirations and those of 
a lot of low, ragged demagogues, forsooth! We 
priests must ever sustain the landlords, their secu- 
lar rights are identical with ours. And if that 
young fool and his worthy friends are ever allowed 
to take the upper hand, we shall all be done for 
and ruined!” 

The other priests chorused assent, but in sub- 
dued voices, as they all feared the aggressiveness 
of Don Davide, no less than the malice of Don 
Felice. 

The third knot of priests was composed only of 
a few men of various ages, bearing all one common 
stamp, more instinctively felt than seen, an in- 
describable something, repulsive and formidable, 
as if a sinister and mysterious influence lurked 
behind their commonplace persons. These Ze- 
lanti, as they were called, affected to be more 
clerical than the Pope himself, and their conver- 
sation turned on nothing but pilgrimages, beati- 
fications, the attitude of his Holiness in his 
controversy with France, and the everlasting 


39 


The Bay of a Hound 

infamy of the Pope’s despoilers. They spoke of 
their Bishop too, casting their eyes to heaven as 
if in silent intercession, and imwilling to express 
their entire judgment. Quieter and more un- 
ostentatious than the others, they obviously 
looked the most dangerous. 

These three groups symbolised very effectively 
the forces at work within the body of the Italian 
clergy: on one side, the Christian Democrats, 
active, aggressive, and modem; on the other, the 
Zelanti, unscrupulous, fierce, and mysterious, 
the pawns of the Great Company; between the 
two extremes, the large, amorphous mass of the 
illiterate, uneducated clergy, whose motto was 
‘'Quieta non movere,” and who feared and re- 
sented any troublesome agitation in their lives, 
from whatever quarter it came. 

The hubbub rose louder and louder, when 
suddenly a red-coated verger rushed in, whispered 
something to the Prevosto, and rushed out again, 
hurriedly followed by him. Monsignore had 
evidently arrived, and the noisy babel of voices 
was silenced at once; a minute later, the Bishop, 
escorted by the Prevosto, all bows and scrapes, 
and by Don Paolino, entered, a pleasant smile on 
his handsome face, and sat in an arm-chair spe- 
cially prepared for him. The priests, one by one. 


40 Monsignor Villarosa 

presented themselves before him, to kiss the 
episcopal ring, and offer their respects. 

It was a sight to watch the courteous and kindly 
manner with which Villarosa greeted them; with 
unexcelled apropos he invariably talked of the 
right thing to the right man, and this so distinctly 
that no word of his was lost. When Don Davide’s 
turn came, the old gentleman’s expressive face 
brightened even more cordially. Accentuating 
each word, he said: have read your speech in 

the Pensiero Cattolico, Don Davide, and must 
compliment you highly. The needs of the flock, 
whether spiritual or temporal, must be the first 
thought of a true pastor, for priesthood does not 
exclude, aye, it signifies active citizenship; I give 
you my warmest blessing, and am at one with you 
in your noble efforts.” 

If a thunderbolt had struck the audience the 
effect could not have been more startling. What i 
His Excellency Conte Guido Villarosa, Bishop 
and grand-seigneur, sympathised with this young 
scatterbrain who dared preach subversive theories 
and was almost as dangerous as the Socialists 
themselves! What was the world coming to, if 
even a Prince of the Church departed from the 
time-honoured rules which said that priest and 
landlord must sustain each other? 


41 


The Bay of a Hound 

Perhaps Monsignore himself was not quite 
conscious of the import of his approval ; impulsive, 
as he always was, he had spoken more probably 
out of genuine kindness of heart. The efforts of 
this young Curato to lift himself and those en- 
trusted to his care from the deadly stagnation of 
their lives had awakened his ready sympathy, and 
again this attempt to take an active part in the 
nation’s life responded to the Bishop’s old and 
unfulfilled desire of blending together religion and 
patriotism. Don Davide was the most astonished 
of them all: a support from that quarter had ap- 
peared impossible, and his nature was not noble 
enough to banish from his mind the thought that 
this public approval dissimulated either a trap 
or a manoeuvre. 

So while the priests were robing for the proces- 
sion tongues wagged furiously but in whispers, 
and, as if on wireless, the Bishop’s words reached 
Varese, and appeared that afternoon, enthusiasti- 
cally commented on, in a double-leaded ^‘leader” 
of the Pensiero Cattolico^ over the signature of the 
editor, Don Sisto Prina. 

In the meanwhile, at Casbenno, Guido took 
possession of the arbor, with some novels he had 
wisely brought from Milan, a box of cigarettes, 
and a capacious basket-chair. The young officer 


42 Monsignor Villarosa 

was wholly intent upon doing nothing very com- 
fortably. Young, rich, healthy, and heart-whole, 
he was perfectly at ease with himself and life and 
all things in general. Not even pretending to 
open a book, he lay there contentedly. Suddenly 
he was startled by the deep-throated bay of a 
hound, almost at his elbow, so near it sounded. 
It proceeded from ‘^that hateful Villa Meroni” 
as they all called it. Through a small apertiue 
in the thick foliage he could see below, between 
steep, grassy banks, the road leading up to the 
invisible house. As he peeped through, the dog, 
a huge, shaggy boarhound, came into view, bound- 
ing delightedly. As a connoisseur he admired 
the ferocious-looking animal, and while so engaged, 
a lady stepped into his limited field of vision. He 
smiled, guessing that it must be Don Eusebio’s 
hernestically veiled widow, and became lazily 
curious. Probably he expected to see a frump, 
so he fairly gasped; she had a slight, elegant figure, 
a dainty oval face, pale and pure as marble, and 
above all, defiant, profoundly sad, hawk-like eyes, 
never to be forgotten when once seen. 

Guido stood transfixed. The clear tones of the 
lady’s voice floated up to him as she called once 
to her dog, “Quiet, Simoun!” and she was gone. 
“Where on earth have I seen her before?” Guido 


43 


The Bay of a Hound 

kept asking to himself, but he racked his brain 
uselessly, finding no clue. For the whole day he 
mused about the apparition, though he repeatedly 
attempted to give up the search. And, strangely 
enough, he never mentioned it when his uncle 
and Don Paolino returned for dinner. 

The Bishop was evidently in the best of spirits; 
his visit to Gavirate had been thoroughly success- 
ful. He had preached the opening sermon at the 
consecration of the new church, dedicated to St. 
Guido in his honor, and had been greatly pleased 
by the impression created in the great crowd 
congregated to hear him. Villarosa had no doubt 
a touch of vanity in his temperament, but it was 
so unobtrusive and evidenced in such an innocent 
fashion, almost as if apologising for the peccadillo, 
that it rendered his intercourse only more de- 
lightful. 

Dinner being nearly ready. Monsignore went 
upstairs for a moment, asking Don Paolino to 
bring the mail to the sitting-room. At his return 
he became at once conscious that something had 
gone amiss. Looking a pretematurally serious 
mien, Paolino handed him the Pensiero Cattolico, 
pointing at some bold headlines and saying: ^‘Will 
your Excellency read this'" with a tremendous 
emphasis on the word 'Hhis.’' It was the highly 


44 Monsignor Villarosa 

colored and minutely circumstantial narrative 
of the Bishop’s reception of Don Davide Capelletti, 
followed by an enthusiastic eulogy upon ‘‘the 
magnanimous spirit of progress and true evan- 
gelical doctrine animating the noble head of our 
diocese.” 

The good Bishop smiled happily, not a little 
flattered by the great sensation his words had 
created. He was rather inclined to quarrel with 
Don Paolino’s discontented expression, but after 
carefully reading the article, he saw that it in- 
vested his words with an exceptional importance, 
such as he originally had never dreamt of. But 
at the same time, his quick and brilliant mind 
was suddenly inspired with the comprehension 
of the vast possibilities invested in their fulfilment. 
The happy smile died upon his lips, he looked Don 
Paolino full in the face and replied to his unspoken 
remonstrances : 

“Why not? Is not the betterment of the flock 
the first duty of a pastor? Is it, forsooth, an error 
to declare it publicly? Is it not true that the 
toilers of the soil here, under our own eyes, are 
shamelessly oppressed and despoiled, and what 
is still worse, purposely kept in ignorance of their 
natural rights to enlightenment and progress, so 
that they should continue to vegetate as mere 


45 


The Bay of a Hound 

beasts of burden? You, Paolino, a son of the soil 
yourself, do you not experience a thrill of sym- 
pathy for your brethren, blindly groping their 
way in the dark, when they ought to be the very 
backbone and sinew of our country?” 

At this vigorous attack Don Paolino pensively 
stroked his nose, then that peasant origin appealed 
to by the Bishop prompted the reply: “I have 
never worried much about the ^backbone and 
sinew of our country,’ your Excellency, but if I 
know anything, it’s the peasants. I warrant 
that if people begin to prate to them about ^rights, ’ 
they’ll soon imagine that there’s nothing upon 
earth to which they are not entitled; give them 
the little finger, and they’ll take the whole arm 
and the rest of the body too, if they’re able. 
Why, they’ll become uppish and insolent and 
uncontrollable. Yes! It’s no use shaking your 
head. Monsignore, the peasants are ignorant of 
their rights, maybe, but they’re mighty sharp at 
getting by stealth all they can’t obtain righteously. 
Peasants are nasty beasts, that’s what they are!” 

Villarosa had listened with growing impatience 
to these words. A large landowner himself, he 
had lived in the midst of peasants almost all his 
life, and, on account of his spiritual ministrations 
to them, had penetrated into their souls more 


46 Monsignor Villarosa 

intimately than most people, so he was forced to 
recognise the great element of truth underlying 
Don Paolino’s harsh words. At the same time, 
he considered this opinion largely due to Paolino’s 
hostility to his own class, natiural in one who had 
unexpectedly risen above it. 

“Peasants are beasts, you say!” the Bishop 
hotly replied, “and if I grant you the truth of 
this slanderous statement, the responsibility lies 
at the door of us landowners, who for centuries 
have taught them to be beasts by our oppression, 
and above all, by our neglect. Now we must 
redress the great evil we have committed, and if 
we suffer by so doing, it will be the just atonement 
for the past sins of our fathers. The more I think 
over the words I uttered on the spin* of the moment, 
the more I am inclined to believe that they were 
inspired from on high. Yes, a new work has been 
set before me by my Divine Master, and with His 
aid I will accomplish it!” 

A wonderful light of enthusiasm and faith, 
earnest, pure, and selfless, shone in the Bishop’s 
limpid eyes. As always, Don Paolino was im- 
pressed with awe at his master’s saintliness, but 
this did not prevent him from firing a parting 
shot. “Your Excellency is a saint, every one 
knows that; but what will they say down there?” 


47 


The Bay of a Hound 

and he repeatedly jerked his right thumb over his 
left shoulder. That would have been enigmatical 
to any one not accustomed to Don Paolino’s 
peculiarities, but Monsignore well knew that his 
secretary regarded Rome with respectful yet sus- 
picious consideration, and always alluded crypti- 
cally to it as “down there.’' Villarosa was going 
to reply, when the dinner was announced, and the 
dispute interrupted, thus relieving the old gentle- 
man from the necessity of replying ipso facto to 
an objection of which he fully appreciated the 
weight. 

Guido, in the meanwhile, had taken no part in 
the conversation, and was vacantly gazing out of 
the window. This was quite extraordinary for 
him, but somehow it had not attracted the atten- 
tion of the two older men. During dinner the 
general equanimity was restored; they chatted 
freely, and of course about Gavirate. Monsignore 
and Don Paolino, however, at every moment 
seemed disposed to revert to Don Sisto Prina’s 
article, and then Guido at once lapsed into absent- 
mindedness as if quite content to do so. 

At the end of the meal a carriage was heard, 
then a good-humored voice bidding the servants 
not to announce the visit. The Bishop and Guido 
had just exclaimed, “That’s the doctor!” when a 


48 Monsignor Villarosa 

very tall, lank, and loose-limbed individual lei- 
surely made his appearance; he had a tiny head 
on an immensely long neck, was as bald as a billiard 
ball, with a thick, close-cropped grey beard, which 
almost grew up to his eyes, two sparkling beads 
as piercing as gimlets. 

“Are you here at last, you shameless atheist? 
cried the Bishop in high glee. “That’s a nice 
thing not to have visited us for the last eight or 
ten days, when you knew that our Guido was 
here!” 

The newcomer, in short sentences which ap- 
peared to pop suddenly out of a gun levelled at 
his audience, responded: “Couldn’t. I’m here to 
nurse sick people, not visit healthy individuals. 
Broken no bones yet, young warrior, with your 
horse-racing? Birds very shy, eh, you lazy- 
shanks?” and he shook hands all round. 

Dr. Romolo Sandri had been for the last fifteen 
years the attending physician of Monsignor Villa- 
rosa, this being another grievance entertained by 
the Zelanti against him. Why did the Bishop 
obstinately stick to this rough, uncouth personage, 
a godless reprobate, a Socialist, and (oh, horror 
of horrors!) a Freemason? Why not give his 
custom to “dear Dr. Grassi,” the sleek, obsequious 
practitioner and leading light of the clerical party 


49 


The Bay of a Hound 

in Varese? But, murmur as they would, the 
Bishop continued to consult Sandri, holding him 
in great esteem and friendship. He replied to 
those who remonstrated with him upon this sore 
point, that he consulted his doctor about his body 
and not his soul, and that, after all, he only fol- 
lowed the example given by his Holiness the late 
Pope, who had entrusted his very life to a sur- 
geon, a Mason of the ^‘thirty-third degree,’’ — this 
boutade, of course, closing the incident. 

Don Paolino, at the same time the bosom friend 
and fervid antagonist of Sandri, in everlasting 
discussions about the usefulness of priests, whom 
the doctor stoutly maintained would be better 
employed at the plough, soon took up the cudgels, 
observing: “The doctor had something better to 
do next door. He had no time to inquire after 
our Guido, though I myself saw his carretella day 
after day at the gate of that hateful Villa Meroni! ” 

Sandri had one of his peculiarly soft and musical 
laughs, then replied: “You’d make a first-class 
detective, Don Paolino! That’s at least more 
useful than a bird-snaring lazy cleric, I know! 
Yes, Monsignore, I came and still come daily to 
assist an old servant in that Villa.” 

Guido, now breathlessly interested, cautiously 
queried: “A servant of the widow who has rented 


4 


50 Monsignor Villarosa 

the Villa?” and Monsignore commented: “You 
well imagine, doctor, how angry I am at the Villa 
being rented!” while Don Paolino chimed in, 
“Don Eusebio says that a widow Lironi has taken 
it.” 

“Don Eusebio — pah-h-h! I know nothing of 
widows Lironi! She’s no widow. Her name is 
Marchesa di Tavernay.” 

These words had not left Sandri’s lips when 
Guido exultingly cried out: “By Jove! I’ve got 
it!” and startled the others. Crimsoning to his 
eyes, he stammered a very lame explanation of 
finding suddenly an historical name which had 
eluded him all day. 

“The Marchesa is Italian by birth, though the 
name is French,” the doctor continued: “a Roma- 
gnola, from Imola, I think; her maiden name, 
Leoni — Donna Delia Leoni — a mighty pretty 
name too, and she’s a darling!” Sandri expres- 
sively kissed his finger-tips, then went on: “Hus- 
band, very much alive. A gambler and a roue. 
A thorough scoundrel. She’s well rid of him. 
The French have divorce, bless them! Not like 
here — stick and rot — as we Italians do!” Then 
turning abruptly upon Villarosa : “ No need of look- 
ing glum and shocked, my friend. Divorce is the 
only one moral and logical corrective of marriage ! ” 


51 


The Bay of a Hound 

The Bishop, of course, was disgusted. An 
orthodox Roman Catholic, he held marriage indis- 
soluble, and could find no reason warranting its 
termination by the will of man. All considera- 
tions to the contrary were more than useless, so 
the tenant of the Villa Meroni became doubly 
distasteful to him, as he considered it an insult 
that such a person should become his neighbor. 
In spite of Sandri’s earnest testimony about the 
charm, intelligence, and kindness of the Marchesa, 
Monsignore remained obdurate in his prejudiced 
hostility, while Guido, still more distrait than before, 
made but feeble efforts to join in the conversation. 

The doctor stayed until late, as the Bishop was 
loath to part from him, and detained him when- 
ever he rose to leave. Finally Monsignore es- 
corted his departing visitor to his carretellaj so that 
he might continue to the last minute their discus- 
sion about the rival claims of Church and State 
in the organisation of the family. 

Guido went up to his rooms, but not to bed. 
For a long while he looked out of his window, 
smoking moodily, a marked contrast with his 
lazy contentment in the morning. That name of 
Tavemay had awakened in his mind a host of 
memories: his short stay, two years before, at the 
Tor di Quinto High School of Equitation, near 


52 Monsignor Villarosa 

Rome, the hunting and racing, and the famous 
Hunt Ball at which he had been introduced to the 
same Marchesa, the Italian wife of a French 
diplomat who had been pointed out to him as a 
desperate gambler and a devil of a fellow.*' He 
perfectly recollected how radiant and lovely she 
had looked, merely a bride of a few months, over- 
flowing with life and fun. How thoroughly they 
had enjoyed themselves during the long cotillion 
they had danced together! And now? The 
happy, thoughtless child, for she could not have 
been much more than eighteen, was transformed in 
that strikingly pale, almost tragic-looking woman, 
undoubtedly still beautiful, but of a beauty made 
of sorrow and bitterness and pride! Heigh-ho! 
for those merry, innocent eyes which had rested 
so contentedly and trustfully upon the gay throng ! 
And now their wild, haughty, rebellious look 
haunted him mysteriously and unremittingly. 
Guido had never before suffered from fits of in- 
trospection, but somehow or other the vivid con- 
trast between the past and present awoke in him 
a deeper nature, unsuspected till then by all, even 
by himself. He looked in the night very much 
with that expression peculiar to his uncle, when 
he contemplated the lake and hills spread out 
before his window. 


53 


The Bay of a Hound 

Suddenly Guido shook himself together, lamely 
attempting to laugh aloud in derision of all this 
nonsense. He muttered: “Well, I’m the greatest 
idiot alive!” but his last glance in the direction of 
Villa Meroni amply belied his words. Finally 
he undressed and went to bed, and as youth as- 
serted itself by a delicious torpor heralding a 
sound night’s rest the distant bay of a hound broke 
the peaceful silence. Half unconscious already, 
he smiled and murmured, “Watch well . . . 
Simoun . . . good dog!” 

Early next morning Guido took out his mare for 
a ride. The air was fresh and clear as he wended 
his way up the hill. At a certain point he turned 
from the high-road into a rough bridle-path 
through the thick woods of chestnut and oak. 
The track he had chosen, with its loose rocks and 
deep ruts, was by no means adapted for riding, 
especially a nervous thoroughbred, who pranced 
and skipped about in the most erratic fashion. 
Guido, however, was a thorough horseman, and 
kept the mare reasonably quiet simply by talking 
to her in soothing tones. After a curvet more 
violent than the others, he felt that the mare was 
suddenly very lame, so, thinking that a stone had 
become lodged in her hoof, he dismounted to find 
that she had cast a shoe, and that even a walk 


54 Monsignor Villarosa 

was painful to her. Quite angry, and disposed to 
administer a thorough scolding to his grooms, he 
of course took the reins in hand and walked down 
the path, followed by the pretty animal, who from 
time to time confidentially rubbed her soft nose 
against her master's cheek. 

The path had become still narrower, so that 
between the high banks on each side there was 
barely room to pass. It was a lovely spot, shaded 
by huge chestnut-trees, through the thick foliage 
of which the morning sun here and there shot 
bright patches of light upon the ferns and bracken. 
The long descent ended in this hollow, then the 
path rose again precipitously, turning abruptly 
at a very acute angle so that the miniature glen 
appeared without issue. Guido halted a moment, 
partly to give his limping mare a rest and partly 
to enjoy the exquisite peace and beauty of the 
spot, when without warning there was a quick 
rustle in the underbrush, and a ferocious-looking 
hound bounded on the path in front of him, and, 
growling ominously, crouched as if to spring at his 
throat. The nervous mare pricked up her ears 
as if ready to bolt, but, instantly checked by her 
master, stopped dead, quivering all over and 
refusing to budge. So between the fierce dog in 
front and the frightened horse behind, the young 


The Bay of a Hound 55 

officer found himself in a very distressing and 
ridiculous predicament. 

With a start Guido instantly recognised the dog, 
and saw the obvious necessity of placating him 
at once, so he familiarly addressed him by name, 
calling out, ''Simoun . . . good dog!'’ Thus 
addressed by a totally unknown human being, the 
hound hardly knew what to do, so he sat on his 
haunches, still suspicious and watchful, but no 
longer actively aggressive. Guido then turned 
his attention upon the mare, but saw that it would 
be impossible for him to pass, as, even if the dog 
did not object, which was very doubtful, she could 
not be coaxed into moving a step. 

The young man’s temper was rising fast, for he 
knew that Simoun’s mistress could not be very 
far off. He objected most seriously at being dis- 
covered in that ludicrous attitude by a pretty 
woman, so, lifting his riding-crop, he belligerently 
took a step forward, only to see the dog display 
a formidable set of teeth, and then to be violently 
jerked back by the mare’s angry tug. Just as he 
endeavored not to lose his balance the Marchesa 
appeared in front of him. A ghost of a smile 
played upon her strong mouth, and she severely 
called her dog to heel ; in clear and polite but cold 
and formal tones, she begged to be excused for 


56 Monsignor Villarosa 

the inconvenience her dog had caused. Guido, 
cap in hand, explained what had occurred and 
disclaimed all annoyance. Then, overcoming an 
unaccountable fit of shyness, he added: ^‘Pardon, 
Marchesa, but dare I recall my name to you — 
Lieutenant Calvello — and the fact that two years 
ago I had the honour of dancing the cotillion with 
you at the Hunt Ball in Rome?’^ 

A painful fiush overcast the marble pallor of 
her cheeks, her eyes had one flash of reminiscent 
anger, but feeling that she was bound to reply 
something to this courteous and perfectly correct 
remark, she said: “You must have a most wonder- 
ful memory for faces to have instantly recognised 
me! I know that I have altered very much . . . 
since then.’' 

How was it that Guido’s ready wit did not 
prompt him an obvious compliment, even if it 
had to be substantiated by a white lie? He 
blushed, but unhesitatingly confessed how he had 
seen her, how she had vividly but indistinctly 
recalled the past, and finally how Dr. Sandri had 
casually mentioned her name. There Guido im- 
perceptibly faltered, suddenly remembering her 
divorce. She, on her side, detected this hesitation 
with the remarkable promptitude peculiar to 
highly strung temperaments, but, strange to say. 


57 


The Bay of a Hound 

this discovery rather served to thaw her icy re- 
serve, for she had the intuition that it had been 
prompted by genuine sympathy and not by the 
curiosity of a worldling, at the same time anxious 
and afraid to broach a slippery subject. 

^‘Marchesa di Tavemay no longer!” she de- 
liberately said, looking him full in the eyes. I am 
now once more Delia Leoni, so you must never 
call me by that other name ... I hate!” 

There was such a fierce intensity of feeling in 
her voice that Guido was startled, vaguely per- 
ceiving that behind it all there was the tragic 
agony of a heart, so poignant and intense that his 
thoughtless, easy-going nature could not realise 
its possibility. The situation was getting ex- 
tremely uncomfortable for Guido, who murmured 
a vague and incomprehensible apology, so that 
Delia, wishing to ease matters, patted the mare’s 
glossy neck, pleasantly remarking : 

returned upon my steps as I missed my dog, 
and thus came to the rescue. Walk her along 
now, and as we are going the same way I will see 
that Simoun behaves.” The dog keeping well in 
front, the capricious mare was at once pacified, 
following them as a lamb, while Delia and Guido 
continued together their walk. 

Neither of the two spoke much: a natural re- 


58 Monsignor Villarosa 

serve guarded Delia’s each word, though somehow 
she was attracted by the open, guileless, even 
naive countenance of this young officer. As to 
Guido, he had lost all his sprightly assurance. He 
was absorbed in a mute and imreasoning admira- 
tion of something, he knew not what, which was 
not wholly due to the grace and beauty of his com- 
panion. It seemed to spring from an intimate 
consciousness of new and unrevealed ideals far 
above his own elementary conception of life. 
The few words they exchanged were the merest 
commonplace: the weather, the beauty of the 
district, and finally the fact that they were 
neighbors. 

‘‘Then you are the nephew of the Bishop of 
Varese?” Delia inquired after he had repeatedly 
mentioned his uncle, and an expression of distrust 
flitted over her lovely face. 

But Guido did not see, or rather could not 
understand it. He told her all he owed to Mon- 
signore, how he had cared for him since his baby- 
hood, taking the place of the mother he had never 
known, and all this with such loving enthusiasm 
that the young man’s honest face glowed again, 
and Delia could not help being touched and amused 
by his boyish eloquence. 

At the gate of the Villa Meroni Guido bowed 


59 


The Bay of a Hound 

with courtly grace over Delia's little hand and 
watched her disappear in her winding avenue. 
Then, unconsciously suppressing a sigh, he went 
on to the stables of the villa, thus avoiding the 
main entrance, for, he said to himself, the mare 
needed immediate attention. To tell the truth, 
he was instinctively reluctant to meet his uncle 
or Don Paolino, as what they had said on the pre- 
ceding evening now disturbed him greatly. So, 
after handing his mare to the grooms, whom he 
did not find the heart to scold, he slipped up un- 
observed to his rooms to think and ponder and 
“perchance to dream" over his imexpected 
adventure. 

But there was no reason for Guido to worry. 
It was the Bishop's reception day, and he was 
very busy with matters of the diocese. It was no 
mere ceremony, for Villarosa treated personally 
all affairs brought to his notice. The fact that 
he expected the culprits of a recent scandal that 
same morning rendered him very irritable and 
nervous. These two priests who had quarrelled, 
defaming each other about a favorite cook, were 
middle-aged, swarthy-looking individuals, coarse 
and not over-clean, their clerical garb only accen- 
tuating their uncouthness, which would have 
escaped notice if they had worn their native 


6o Monsignor Villarosa 

fustian. Arriving almost simultaneously in the 
little ante-room of the Bishop’s private quarters, 
they glared ferociously at each other, much to the 
amused curiosity of the few other priests still 
awaiting their turn of audience. 

Don Paolino, passing backwards and forwards, 
at the sight of them made an angry gesture of 
disgust. He knew that the inevitable scene was 
boimd to agitate and disturb his beloved master, 
so he looked at them with undisguised aversion 
and growled a comprehensive “You are here, are 
you?” which made them quake in their shoes. 

After a while the Bishop appeared, ushering out 
Arciprete Sidoli, the Dean of Varese, a tall, gaunt, 
saturnine man, with roving, unsteady eyes, and 
considered as the chief of the Zelanti in the diocese. 
Villarosa invariably treated him with the greatest 
consideration, well knowing that the man was his 
worst enemy, and too proud to show that he was 
aware of the fact. The only important business 
now on hand being that of the rival Curati, the 
remaining affairs were rapidly dispatched, and 
Monsignore directed Don Paolino to introduce the 
rivals. 

They found the Bishop sitting bolt upright in 
his big arm-chair, looking so majestic, so austere, 
so stern, that Don Paolino himself, though thor- 


The Bay of a Hound 6i 

oughly accustomed to his master’s quickly varying 
moods, was struck by the present contrast with 
his habitually sweet and benign demeanor, 
wondering if it was exclusively due to the trans- 
gressions of the rival priests rather than to a novel 
direction taken by the Bishop’s impressionable 
mind. The priests, looking most uncomfortable, 
had slunk in behind the secretary, for they knew 
that a tremendous storm had been brewing and 
that it was now about to burst over their heads. 

“I am fully posted about that which brings you 
both before me,” Villarosa began in a cold and 
forbidding tone. Then, addressing him who had 
complained by letter: “Do you, Don Baldassarre 
Minoli, maintain in the presence of Don Pietro 
Croci that he has malignantly and purposely dis- 
seminated calumnies concerning your morality?” 
The priest stuttered a confirmation of his charge, 
then, goaded by his hated enemy’s presence, 
began a tumultuous rehearsal of the story. With 
irresistible authority the Bishop checked him by 
a gesture which froze the words on his very lips. 
Then turning to the other priest: “Is this true, 
Don Pietro Croci?” the formidable inquisitor 
demanded. Staggered by the implacable direct- 
ness of the question, the calumniator painfully 
gasped forth a half-hearted negative, and would 


62 Monsignor Villarosa 

likewise have launched into a long story had he 
not been silenced even more severely by his 
superior. 

A look of unutterable scorn came over Villa- 
rosa’s handsome face. Slowly he rose to his feet, 
and his magnificently trained voice rose and fell 
as he spoke: “You call yourselves shepherds! 
You are entrusted with the care of souls so that 
they may live in the love and respect of their 
Maker! And then you dare sully the noble uni- 
form of Christ’s soldiers by all that is low and 
mean and contemptible and false? You both 
have committed most heinous crimes: falsehood, 
delation, base hatred and calumny, and, what is 
graver still, underlying it all, the filth and impurity 
of your animal lives stare me in the face! And 
you do not even appear to understand it: your 
hearts are hardened and your souls withered by 
the habit of vice and shame ! Whitened sepulchres 
filled with carrion, you dare preach unto others 
that which you do not practise. You dare ap- 
proach the altar and lift up imto the Father the 
awful holocaust of His Son’s flesh and blood with 
lies upon your lips, with hate and lust in your 
hearts, with hands reeking of the corruption of 
your daily lives ! Each of your sacerdotal minis- 
trations is an insult to man, a blasphemous 


63 


The Bay of a Hound 

desecration of God, and the greatest criminals 
could approach the Lord’s Divine Supper more 
innocently and more deservedly than you, wicked 
shepherds, wolves in the sheepfold, traitorous 
servants, forsworn recreants, and perjurers!” 

The priests, terrified, quailed under this im- 
passioned denunciation, and Don Paolino later 
declared that even he was trembling all over, and 
would have much preferred to have been ten feet 
underground. For a minute the Bishop was 
silent, overcome by the profound intensity of his 
feelings, as there was not a word he had uttered 
which did not respond to a lifelong conviction. 
Then, in clarion tones, his voice becoming even 
more sonorous and penetrating, he continued: 

^‘My duty is clear. I ought to expel you both 
from the Church, or at least suspend you a divinis, 
but what then?” He was again silent for a 
minute, and the two wretches fell on their knees 
and grovelled in the dust. Monsignore went on: 
'‘You must abandon your parishes at once, and 
enter the Retreat at Rh6 for as long as I may think 
fit!” This was too much for the two men, and 
they set up a most imdignified howl of fear and 
rage, which thoroughly roused the indignation of 
the earnest prelate. "Away, away with you!” 
he thundered, pointing to the door. "Away! 


64 Monsignor Villarosa 

As the angel with the flaming sword whom the 
Lord placed before the gate of Eden, so your sins 
are arrayed to banish you from the Lord’s pres- 
ence! You have no ray of contrition in your 
hearts, no desire to mend, and are debasing your- 
selves as the cowards you are, not in horror of 
your sins but that you may continue to wallow 
in your mire! Away, away, I say! I will allow 
you a fortnight to consider my words, then you 
will confess your sins to me, and I will judge 
whether the grace of God has touched your hard- 
ened hearts; till then, dare not celebrate. Keep 
rigorously to your rooms, in solitude, fasting, and 
prayer, so that the Light may shine upon you. 
For all, you will be indisposed. I will send oblates 
to take charge of your parishes for the time being. 
Now . . . go!” 

Like a couple of whipped curs they heavily rose 
to their feet and, managing to find the door, went 
out, followed by Don Paolino. Never had the 
Bishop been so impressive and so severe. The 
ashen pallor of his cheeks and the flashing light in 
his eyes had made his good secretary most fearful 
of the possible consequences. So, as soon as he 
had unceremoniously bundled out the culprits, he 
flew back to give at all costs a piece of his mind to 
his master. But as he opened the door the words 


The Bay of a Hound 65 

died upon his lips. Villarosa was kneeling on his 
prie-Dieu, his hands convulsively clasped together 
in a passionate supplication, while large tears 
were slowly running down his delicate cheeks. 

Don Paolino reverently bowed his head as in 
the presence of something holy. He softly closed 
the door and ran away. 


CHAPTER III 


A PRIEST AND A PUBLIC DUTY 

It was the invariable habit of Monsignor Villa- 
rosa to rise at a very early hour both in winter and 
summer. As soon as his Mass was over he went 
to his study, and after a frugal breakfast, con- 
sisting of a glass of fresh milk, never left it again 
until midday, when lunch was served. During 
these hoims even Don Paolino dared not disturb 
him, unsummoned, and the servants were rigor- 
ously instructed never to go near the Bishop’s 
private apartment. The study was a spacious 
room, looking over the magnificent panorama of 
the lake and hills. Villarosa practically resided 
at Casbenno all the year round; the Vescovado, 
his official residence in Varese, was a dilapidated 
and unsuitable building, and this villa being most 
comfortable and in close proximity to the town, 
there was no reason that he should leave it. 

The furniture of the Bishop’s study consisted 
mainly in enormous and heavily laden book- 
66 


A Priest and a Public Duty 67 

shelves, occupying every available space and en- 
croaching even upon the contiguous hall and the 
bedroom, effectively a large alcove of this study. 
This library was Villarosa’s pride and passion; it 
consisted, with very few exceptions, of historical, 
theological, and philosophical works, almost all 
in their original language, as the Bishop was a 
distinguished linguist, and could equally appreci- 
ate French, German, English, and Spanish, not 
counting Latin, Greek, and Hebraic. 

The most striking peculiarity of the library was 
its imiversality of tendencies. Of course, Villa- 
rosa, being a Bishop, was permitted to read freely 
even those books most severely prohibited by the 
Congregation of the Index, and this liberty he 
used to its fullest extent. On his shelves Renan 
and Strauss elbowed St. Augustine and Origen, 
while Haeckel and Thomas a Kempis stood side 
by side. The Bishop had spared neither time 
nor money to render his collection of exegetical 
works on the Old and New Testaments almost 
unique, and the principal publishers the world 
over had his standing orders to send him every- 
thing appearing on this subject. It was accord- 
ingly rumored that for the last twenty years the 
Bishop had been engaged in the composition of a 
mighty work, but somehow nothing of it had yet 


68 Monsignor Villarosa 

transpired, so that the learned world was still 
ignorant of his name, while the higher clergy 
smiled ironically when any one referred to ‘‘the 
labors of Bishop Villarosa,” as much as to infer 
that it was all a fizzle and that nothing would 
ever come out of it. 

Don Paolino was therefore greatly startled out 
of his morning’s lazy quietude by a long and in- 
sistent call of the electric bell which connected his 
quarters with the Bishop’s apartment. “What’s 
up?” the good secretary grumbled. “It’s not 
yet nine, and he never calls in the morning! I 
hope that he’s not unwell!” Thus anxiously 
communing with himself, Paolino hurried upstairs 
and arrived out of breath in his master’s presence. 

Villarosa stood by his huge desk, upon which 
were piled in perfect order three majestic heaps 
of manuscript in his small and beautifully clear 
hand. The old gentleman was radiantly happy: 
for many years Paolino had not known him to 
look so robust and youthful, with that great inti- 
mate joy flashing in his eyes. The secretary 
stopped short at the unusual sight, and Villarosa, 
with an exultant ring in his voice, cried out: 
“Hurry up! Hurry up, Paolino, my son! Come 
here and look! ‘Exegi monumentum!’ It’s 
finished ! Finished ! ’ ’ 


A Priest and a Public Duty 69 

Still, Don Paolino remained obtusely open- 
mouthed. Confusedly he understood that some- 
thing important had taken place, never guessing 
what it was. With the rest of the world he thought 
the Bishop’s '‘great work” a myth, and all that 
written paper nonplussed him. This attitude 
rather irritated his master, brimming over with 
delight, and made him cry out: 

“Why, man, don’t you see that I’ve finished 
my work on The Symbolism of the Fourth Gospel ? 
Don’t you see that twenty-five years of labor 
have brought forth their fruit? Can’t you see 
that those pages are destined to bring Guido 
Villarosa’s name down to posterity? Can’t you 
see that I am so happy — so happy that my heart 
is ready to burst? Can’t you congratulate me 
and wish me joy?” 

Don Paolini found his tongue at last, but he 
stared still more suspiciously upon that mountain 
of foolscap, covered with writing. He could not 
in the least appreciate the smallest fraction of the 
effort it had cost, and much less its scientific and 
ethical importance. However, all that gave hap- 
piness to his beloved master was a joy to him, 
quite apart from the extent and nature of this 
happiness itself. Don Paolino was the personi- 
fication of blind and unreasoning devotion. It 


70 Monsignor Villarosa 

almost amounted to genius, as demonstrated 
whenever a discussion had occurred with anybody 
daring to question the absolute, transcendent, 
unique perfections of Bishop Villarosa. At the 
same time, this great devotion entitled him to 
freely express his opinion at all times and upon 
all subjects, though with inborn delicacy he 
used this privilege only when his master and him- 
self were alone. 

But now Don Paolino’s expressions were most 
guarded and constrained. “Your Excellency is 
happy. So am I, of course, very happy! Though 

“ With a nervous little cough he stopped 

short. 

“Though what?“ the Bishop testily demanded. 

Don Paolino artfully ignored the question, but 
tentatively proceeded: “All that is about the 
Gospel of St. John? Your Excellency is a great 
saint and a great scholar ; but what on earth could 
you find to say about this particular Gospel? I 
have read most of it, at Mass, of course, over and 
over, and as to its opening verses I know them by 
heart as I repeat them every day after the ^Ite, 
Missa est’; but it’s all so simple and clear that 
even if I was tortured I couldn’t write one 
thouandth part of that!’’ And he emphatically 
pointed to the manuscript. 


A Priest and a Public Duty 71 

All the joy and elation disappeared as by magic 
from Villarosa's countenance. He sat down with 
a disappointed, weary little gesture, beckoning to 
Don Paolino to do the same, and replied: is 

quite impossible for me to explain all I said in 
these three big volumes, but they are soon to be 
published, and then, Paolino, you can read them 
at your ease.” 

The Bishop would have said more, but at the 
word “published” his secretary had a visible start 
of surprise, not altogether free from displeasure 
and fear. 

“Published?” he asked in an undertone, and, 
receiving a decided affirmative, he continued in a 
low voice: “Your Excellency means to say that 
he is going to have all of that printed? Is your 
Excellency sure that it is altogether wise to do 
so? We priests had better be very careful, and 
the less noise we make the soonest mended. 
Down there they have very scant sympathy for 
priests who write. And I had not long ago quite 
a sharp tussle with that black-faced hypocrite 
Don Felice, when he reported to me that the Arci- 
prete said it was surely wise that your Excellency 
‘ only appeared to work, but never published any- 
thing, for it would certainly be censured, if nothing 
worse’! I then told Don Felice, of course, to 


72 Monsignor Villarosa 

mind his own business and to advise his informers 
to do the same, as anything you wrote must be 
true and good and great; but then ... I never 
dreamt that . . . you had anything to publish, 
and now . . . there are to be three enormous 
volumes!’' 

Villarosa listened in perfect silence. A heavy 
frown obscured his brow, and when Don Paolino 
finished, for a while Monsignore remained absorbed 
in thought. Then a profound sigh escaped 
him, and with a simple dignity which lent a 
peculiar spiritual grandeur to his words, he 
said: 

^For our rejoicing is this, the testimony of 
our conscience, that in simplicity and godly sin- 
cerity, not with fleshly wisdom, but by the grace 
of God, we have had our conversation with the 
world.’ ” 

He was again silent, then, in his usual tone, he 
continued : 

“Do you remember those words of Paul to the 
Corinthians? I see by your face, Paolino, that 
you do not, for, as you say, you read the Gos- 
pels only at Mass. You prefer not to worry about 
understanding and interpreting them. You are, 
perhaps, the wiser of the two! So the Arciprete 
said I would surely be censured? And perhaps 


73 


A Priest and a Public Duty 

worse? He . . . knows so much about me. 
Look here, Paolino, this manuscript represents 
my lifework; it is the result of endless thought, 
and perhaps in a worldly-wise fashion you are 
right about the opportunity of publishing it. But 
my conscience cannot be silenced, and it commands 
me to proclaim the truth. After all, nothing 
much can be said of the first volume, mere histori- 
cal research concerning the probable authorship 
of ” 

“Authorship? ” hastily interrupted Don Paolino, 
greatly alarmed and upset — “authorship? Why 
. . . the Gospel of St. John was written . . . 
by St. John ... of course! You cannot possibly 
discuss that?“ 

“Paolino, my son, you are really a good man, 
the pearl of friends, and the most honest soul I 
know, but as regards biblical exegesis you are 
deplorably ignorant, not by your fault, I admit, 
but ignorant all the same. At the actual stage 
of exegetical science ’’ 

“Ignorant . . . ignorant!'’ again interrupted 
the secretary, not a little riled; “at all events it 
is safer to be ignorant as I am than talk of science 
and religion in the same breath as your Excellency ; 
better be ignorant than discuss the authorship 
of Gospels like your Excellency! Science, for- 


74 Monsignor Villarosa 

sooth! As if it was not considered a sin down 
there to know too much!'’ 

Suddenly an imexpected change came over Don 
Paolino. It was as if the premonition of the future 
had inspired him. A ray of love and devotion 
lit up his sallow features, and, leaning earnestly 
forward, in an impassioned whisper he spoke : 

master, my beloved master, do you not 
know that you are all in all to me, that I’d gladly 
give my life to save you one minute’s sorrow? 
If this gives me any claim upon you, ponder over 
and over again before rushing into print! Why 
should you, so happy and peaceful, fly in the face 
of Providence and risk it all for a heap of black- 
ened paper? All you have written, master, is 
truth and wisdom, no doubt, but the rest of the 
clergy, the mighty congregations, the powerful 
cardinals, his Holiness himself, may not see it in 
the same light! And then? To see you perse- 
cuted, slandered, tortured by your enemies — you, 
so good, so noble, so high above us all ! O master, 
master! follow the advice of this poor ignorant 
peasant, who thinks of you alone!” And with 
these broken words he tenderly placed his great 
brown hand upon the Bishop’s delicate fingers. 

The devotion brimming over in each of Paolino’s 
words deeply touched Villarosa’s heart. Yet the 


A Priest and a Public Duty 75 

cheerful but adamantine energy of his tempera- 
ment would not allow him for a moment to re- 
consider his decision. He was convinced that 
his conscience demanded the fulfilment of a high 
moral duty, and this conviction had grown stronger 
as the years passed by. It hurt him to the quick 
to disregard his old friend’s advice, but to shirk 
his duty would be plainly the act of a coward, and 
that he could never be. Then he no doubt con- 
sidered that Don Paolino’s terror was grossly 
exaggerated, and due to his hereditary hostility 
to “print,” and to his suspicious fear of Rome, 
fostered and aggravated by the insinuations of 
the Arciprete and his Zelanti. The Bishop naively 
believed that they were not fit persons to interpret 
the opinions of the great Roman congregations, 
and still less those of his Holiness. So Mon- 
signore kindly smiled upon Don Paolino, and, 
affectionately patting the big brown fist, soothingly 
replied : 

“Paolino, my son, you absolutely must not be 
too anxious about the consequences of my actions; 
you are apt to worry overmuch about my welfare, 
and to think that the whole world is holding its 
breath in the expectation of what I’m going to 
do next. As to all that tittle-tattle, it’s not worth 
listening to. I humbly believe that I have done 


76 Monsignor Villarosa 

my work ‘ in simplicity and godly sincerity, ’ and 
that it must be given to the world in obedience 
to my Master, who said, ‘Let your light so shine 
before men/ It is lack of proper respect to fear 
that his Holiness will not recognise at once the 
spirit in which I have written. So cheer up, my 
dearest old friend; let us be happy to-day and 
take no heed for the morrow! God will provide! 
Now make me up a fine parcel of this first volume 
and address it to Lapi, with whom I have arranged 
all particulars for its publication,” 

With this the conversation ended. It, however, 
left indelible traces in the hearts of both. The 
Bishop’s enthusiasm, though not in the least 
abated by Paolino’s vague fears and prognostics, 
assumed gradually a nuance of belligerent aggres- 
siveness. At the bottom of his heart Villarosa 
had to admit that there was some great good sense 
in what Paolino had said. He knew that the 
adventure of his early youth was not forgotten, 
and that his constant refusal to enter the political 
service of the Vatican had rendered its authorities 
far from well disposed towards him. That “old 
Villarosa temper” made him scent powder, and 
he seemed as if inclined to follow the tactical 
aphorism that attack is the best defence. 

As to Don Paolino, he henceforth lived in a 


A Priest and a Public Duty 77 

state of feverish and ill-concealed agitation, which 
manifested itself by violent rebuffs to those who 
hinted even innocently at the Bishop’s literary 
activity. He intensified his cares for his master, 
watching, scrutinising, and studying everybody 
and everything concerning him with that jealous 
alertness, that shrewd perspicacity, which formed 
the main characteristics of his temperament. 
And that same morning, while going personally 
to mail what in his heart he called “his Excellency’s 
folly,” he fell foul of poor, harmless Don Eusebio, 
the Ctmato of Casbenno. As the latter joked him 
very innocently about the load he was carrying, 
Paolino turned upon him so ferociously, and 
assailed him in such unmeasured and unsacerdotal 
terms, that the fellow, startled out of the little 
wits he possessed, sought for safety in instant 
flight. 

With the completion of his great work it seemed 
as if Villarosa’s activity had redoubled. Then 
began the really notable period of his episcopal 
career. The public approbation which he had 
given to Don Davide Capelletti and his friends 
had wonderfully assisted their efforts and added 
to their numbers. Don Sisto Prina’s paper, the 
Corriere Cattolico, had become the official paper 
of the party, as the wary journalist saw what this 


78 Monsignpr ViHarb'sa 

meant for him, and accordingly brought to them 
the precious support of his facile pen. Prina 
became, in fact, Don Davide’s best adviser, and 
it was at his suggestion that the young leader 
frequented more and more the episcopal villa. 

For a considerable time Don Davide, who pre- 
viously had called upon his Bishop only when 
indispensable, felt most uncomfortable in his 
presence. He could not get used to Monsignore’s 
aristocratic ease, though the old gentleman was 
kindness itself. The secret of this feeling lay in 
the very different stuff out of which these two men 
were made: Don Davide, because of his lively 
intelligence, appreciated the fact and resented it 
as an index of his own moral and mental inferi- 
ority. So the young Cur at o was quite disposed to 
use his Bishop for all he was worth, but in his 
heart he disliked the noble old gentleman, and 
was quite prepared, at the first occasion, to sacri- 
fice and even betray him. But by their visits 
Capelletti and Prina aimed to compromise the 
Bishop as much as possible, for, judging him as 
they did by their own inferior standards, they 
could not appreciate the nobility of his motives. 
The conviction that a new duty had been pointed 
out to him by a special act of Providence was 
imperishably graven in Villarosa’s soul, and there- 


A Priest and a Public Duty 79 

fore he threw himself unhesitatingly into the 
fray. 

Not one single thought of personal ambition 
inspired him; on the contrary, it was for him a 
pure and unselfish apostolate, a mission of self- 
oblivion, the redress of an age-long injustice; he 
was willing, nay, he was anxious, to submit to all 
it might entail, as it embodied those principles 
of brotherly love which Jesus had preached and 
for which He had died. And besides these truly 
evangelical purposes the enterprise was flavored 
by a dash of heroism which appealed to his com- 
bative temperament, suppressed for so long. Of 
the bitterness in store for him, of the inevitable 
ingratitude, of the baseness and treachery of 
those who now burnt incense at his shrine he 
neither thought nor cared. Neither did he listen 
to Don Paolino’s prudent advice not to mix in the 
struggle; this might have been dictated by good, 
solid common-sense, but to follow it would be 
wholly unworthy of a Villarosa. As to his secre- 
tary’s misgivings about what the authorities at 
Rome would think of the national tendency with 
which he wished to invest the new party, he was 
incurably optimistic, staunchly refusing to ques- 
tion either the social aims or the patriotic senti- 
ments of his Holiness. And thus, with juvenile 


8o Monsignor Villarosa 

energy and enthusiasm, Monsignore launched 
himself into the great campaign. 

The Bishop’s co-operation soon assumed an 
active form. By his advice “The Christian Asso- 
ciation for Social Studies” was founded to central- 
ise and discipline the movement, and he consented 
to be its honorary president by a magnificent 
letter published in the Corriere Cattolico. The 
success of the association was immediate and far- 
reaching; sections of the same sprang up in every 
parish of the diocese, because the clergy, to curry 
favor with their chief, pushed on the inscription 
of members by all the spiritual means at their 
disposal, helped also by the fact that the yearly 
tax was only one lira. The association soon 
counted many thousand subscribers among the 
peasants, and later a series of conferences spread 
its principles far out through the whole north of 
Italy. 

Thus the agitation among the peasants grew 
each day, but on account of their remarkable 
powers of dissimulation and the clever marshalling 
of their chiefs the landlords had yet but a very 
indistinct comprehension of what was really 
going on, and never suspected the impending 
tempest. Suddenly Bishop Villarosa’s Pastoral 
Letter burst forth upon all as a thunderbolt. 


A Priest and a Public Duty 8i 

This truly magnificent piece of eloquence was, 
unfortunately, much too far above the heads of 
those to whom it was addressed. The Christian 
Democrats, of course, were elated and triumphant 
at the authoritative endorsements of their prin- 
ciples, but they failed to understand that the 
Bishop had laid the greatest stress, not so much 
upon the rights of the masses but upon the duties 
of the classes; these must strive to elevate to a 
high plane of moral and material welfare those 
submitted to them. The evangelical spirit of 
human brotherhood and solidarity, of which this 
Pastoral was the embodiment, totally escaped 
them, as it escaped almost all who read it. The 
Zelanti, probably by some mysterious mot d' or dr e, 
were remarkably silent about it, although affect- 
ing in private to be grieved and shocked. As to 
the amorphous mass of the ignorant clergy, it was 
intensely worried, disturbed, and upset. 

One sentence of the Pastoral was especially 
discussed. Speaking to the pastors of their duties, 
Monsignore said: ‘‘The loving and progressive 
enlightenment of the flocks confided to your care 
must ever be the goal of your spiritual ministra- 
tions. This enlightenment must necessarily in- 
clude all those teachings which inspire the virtues 
of great and good citizenship, so that our beloved 
6 


82 Monsignor Villarosa 

Italy may prosper and flourish through the sup- 
pression of all injustice and the acquisition of a 
fair treatment for those who are poor and op- 
pressed.” This sentiment, so unusual in an Italian 
prelate, recalled the attention of the Lombard 
secular press, and one of the most authoritative 
of its dailies published a resume of the Pastoral 
under the interrogative heading of Liberal 
Bishop?” 

Don Paolino was violently upset, as Monsignore, 
to escape a useless discussion, had not previously 
communicated to him the text of the Pastoral. 
When the good fellow read it in extenso in the 
Corriere Cattolico he fretted and fumed, but, of 
course, in vain. He attempted to induce Guido 
to remonstrate with his imcle, but this the young 
officer refused to do, first, because he did not feel 
competent to pass judgment, and secondly, be- 
cause he himself thought that Monsignore was 
absolutely in the right. This reply riled Don 
Paolino unspeakably, and he growled under his 
breath: ‘^All alike, these Villarosa dreamers! All 
alike!” Upon the whole, one single person un- 
reservedly and understandingly admired the Pas- 
toral — the reprobate Dr. Sandri. 

A short time after the publication of the Pastoral 
signs of ill-humor and disaffection became notice- 


A Priest and a Public Duty 83 

able in some of the larger estates of the diocese, 
belonging mostly to the Milanese aristocracy. 
These estates were either rented to fittahiliy or 
middle-men, who leased them for long tenures, 
and grew rich by plundering equally peasants and 
owners, or controlled by fattoriy sorts of land- 
agents directly managing the estates for the pro- 
prietors, who stole quite as much as the fittahili. 
These symptoms, however, had cropped up under 
such specially aggravating circumstances that 
even the worst alarmists in the landlords’ camp 
admitted that some local abuses needed reform, 
but never dreamt that a general agitation was 
preparing. 

There were some croakers, of course, and Don 
Felice Ranzi was the most funereal of them all. 
He went about, Cassandra-like, prophesying 
death and disaster. It must be admitted that he 
had sufficient personal reasons. The last of one 
of those semi-aristocratic families peculiar to 
Lombardy, he possessed an estate of moderate 
size, distributed all over the district, as it had 
come to him at different periods from childless 
relatives. No harder, more unfair, and exacting 
landlord than he could well be found. He un- 
blushingly defrauded his tenants, and it was even 
whispered that their wives and daughters were 


84 Monsignor Villarosa 

helplessly victimised by his base concupiscence. 
In the parish of Don Davide, Lomazzo, Ranzi 
owned a few acres, and was accordingly au fait of 
what was going on in the very hotbed of the agita- 
tion. Knowing how intensely and deservedly he 
was hated, Ranzi guessed that he would be one 
of the very first to be called to account, and this 
danger for his purse and welfare encouraged him 
to remonstrate personally with Villarosa, not so 
much as the Bishop but, as he impudently ex- 
pressed it, “as a brother landlord, belonging, as 
himself, to the nobility.*' 

On that occasion Villarosa drew himself up to 
his whole height and frigidly reminded Ranzi 
that they were both, above all, ministers of the 
Gospel, that, as such, they must give the example 
of just and honorable treatment to their depend- 
ents, and that he was deeply grieved to add that 
he, Don Felice, had often failed to do so. The 
Curato of La Cascinetta departed with fury in his 
heart, and vowing secretly that he would “yet 
get even with that stuck-up old idiot!’* 

In the meantime all was tranquil enough at 
Casbenno ; the Bishop lived in the anxious expecta- 
tion of the first proofs of his volume, while Don 
Paolino, more and more disturbed by the new di- 
rection in which his master’s mind was so impetu- 


A Priest and a Public Duty 85 

ously running, kept an untiring watch on every- 
thing and everybody. As to Guido, no one could 
explain why he passed without any apparent 
reason from the most abject despondency to the 
most uproarious hilarity, so that it began to 
puzzle and worry even his uncle, most imobservant 
of men. 

The truth was that Guido was head over heels 
in love. For the first time in his life he had been 
assailed by a powerful, unanalysed sentiment, 
which made each nerve of his body throb violently 
and then left him limp and exhausted. He was 
just twenty-six, and, for an Italian, it was very 
late to be in love for the first time, but just be- 
cause of this the acuteness of the feeling made him 
pass at a flash through the whole gamut, ranging 
from abject despair to triumphant exultation. 
The good Bishop had asked him guardedly some 
questions about this strange temper. The boy 
had been perfectly truthful when he replied that 
he was not aware of any change; but then Villa- 
rosa, although a great savant and a saint, knew 
little or nothing of the other sex, and was accord- 
ingly quite unable to interpret those very simple 
and obvious symptoms. Don Paolino, sharper 
or less refined, suspected, it is true, that there 
must be a girl at the bottom of it’^; but then he 


86 Monsignor Villarosa 

was all indulgence where Guido was concerned, 
and, furthermore, of the opinion that ‘‘young 
men were just created for that sort of thing/’ 
So he neither worried about it nor mentioned the 
fact to the Bishop, as a matter of no importance. 

The one most interested person, Delia, who 
because of her infallible womanly instinct could 
see more deeply than any one else into Guido’s 
heart, had not herself attached a great weight to 
the discovery. Her sad experience had inspired 
her with a natural distrust and contempt for men 
in general, and, again, she was accustomed to 
awake such feelings. She felt, however, rather 
attracted by the earnest single-mindedness of 
Guido, who, though three years her senior, re- 
minded her more than anything else of a big, 
overgrown schoolboy. And on account of this 
she did not see any harm in allowing the young 
officer to accompany her in those early morning 
rambles of which both appeared to be so excessively 
fond. It must be confessed that at first Guido 
had shamefacedly watched her habits and the 
direction of her walks, and used to meet her 
casually by a series of manoeuvres, so innocently 
artful that Delia could not refrain from smiling, 
and told him that his military tactics were un- 
doubtedly creditable, but that she preferred to 


A Priest and a Public Duty 87 

be frankly asked where she was going next day, 
so as to be prepared for the pleasure of his com- 
pany. Her irony, though tempered by the 
friendliness of her tone, overcame poor Guido so 
thoroughly that Delia’s kind heart was touched; 
she consoled him by adding that, after all, it was 
very pleasant to have a nice boy for her escort 
instead of Simoim alone. And, strangely, the 
boarhound had become another bond between 
them; Simoun, the most fierce and exclusive of 
dogs, had imaccountably become devoted to the 
officer, the more astonishingly so that he had ever 
before jealously growled and even shown his teeth 
to his mistress’s admirers. This was another 
good point for Guido in Delia’s eyes. 

Thus insensibly they grew to be upon intimate 
terms. The second month of Guido’s furlough 
was too rapidly coming to a close, when one day 
the climax was reached in a most unexpected 
fashion. They had met by appointment in that 
shady little glen where they had renewed their 
acquaintance; it was a favorite spot for them, 
partly because of its romantic seclusion and partly 
because, unconfessedly, it had grown dear to them 
both. With Simoun curled up at their feet they 
sat side by side on a convenient boulder, gaily 
chatting of indifferent subjects. An innocent 


88 Monsignor Villarosa 

question of Delia's about Guido’s regiment sud- 
denly recalled to him that in a few days he must 
leave Casbenno and go back to his duties. 

“I must be back by next Tuesday, and for 
goodness knows how long!” he said in a dolorous 
voice, while a long sigh escaped him. 

Somewhat surprised, Delia remarked: “I un- 
derstood that you loved your profession?” 

The young man diffidently replied: loved it 

decidedly . . . very much . . . once, but ” 

and he sighed again and was silent. Then, with- 
out any warning, as a mountain torrent suddenly 
breaking from its banks, he poured out the tale 
of his love for her. Light had dawned for him 
in a flash; he knew that he loved her with all his 
soul, so powerfully, so absorbingly, so devotedly 
that the simple, elemental boy grew marvellously 
eloquent. 

It was a transfiguration, almost a miracle, and 
Delia, notwithstanding her bitter and cruel ex- 
perience in the past, felt that this mighty wave 
of pure, unselfish love was sweeping her away 
irresistibly towards the great glimmering ocean 
of the Ideal for which in her dreams she had 
so often longed, only to be thrown, broken and 
bleeding, upon the cruel rocks of life’s most brutal 
reality. Motionless she listened to him, resting 


A Priest and a Public Duty 89 

her chin upon her little ungloved hand, and her 
wild, rebellious eyes grew at times wonderfully 
soft as he told her that he must have loved her 
always, even before he ever saw her, and that he 
had only really lived since the day that he had 
met her again. Then, as she persisted in her 
silence, he misunderstood her attitude; rising, he 
hurriedly added in a low, passionate voice: 

“I have offended and hurt you, Delia; but it 
was my duty not to go on seeing you as I did tmder 
false pretences! Your silence is my answer — 
Good-bye! May God bless you and give you all 
happiness!” 

He took one step to depart, when with a single 
word she halted him as if transfixed: Guido!” 
It was all; but for the first time she had called 
him by his Christian name. ^‘Sit down at once 
and be a sensible boy!” she went on, with a pretty 
attempt to play the benevolent and mature rela- 
tive. “Only a word: I believe that you honestly 
feel all you say, but what of it, then?” 

Guido resumed his seat in a state of tremendous 
agitation, for the question was to him utterly in- 
comprehensible; he looked wonderingly at her, 
so that she was struck by the transparency of his 
soul. 

She went on: “Have you considered, thought?” 


90 Monsignor Villarosa 

With a radiant outburst of hope he interrupted 
her: ^‘Thought? Don^t I know that I want you 
for my wife — for my own, to cherish and protect 
and live for? If you only could find heart to 
love me a little bit/’ 

She again looked at him; a great sadness came 
over her, and she said: *‘My poor boy! you — you 
love a divorced woman? You, a child as yet, 
unite your destiny to that of one who was quaffed 
to its bitterest dregs the poison of life? You, 
happy, careless, hopeful boy, seek the love of a 
woman whose experience makes her old enough 
to be your mother? Guido, it would be the 
sheerest folly on your part as well as on mine!” 

Guido tenderly took her little hand and kissed 
it with profound respect. She offered no resist- 
ance, but he felt it quiver under his lips. Then, 
in a voice invested with a novel virility, with a 
depth of feeling which struck deep in the inner- 
most recesses of her bruised heart, he said: 

‘‘Delia, I was a boy; I am a man from this 
hour. As I look in your lovely face, where I now 
can read so much unexplained to me before, I 
solemnly swear that I consider you my affianced 
bride, from whom nothing on earth can part me, 
not even your will ; for if you refused and repulsed 
me I am still yours — yours by a bond that naught 


A Priest and a Public Duty 91 

can ever break! My whole being belongs to this, 
the first, the only love of my life, the love which 
you, Delia, have taught me! I ask for nothing 
and deserve nothing, but one sign of yours will 
ever call me by your side, to serve you, and if 
needs be to die for you. Love me or love me not, 
Delia, it is all the same for me; my love is mine 
and will be my pride and my joy to the end of 
my life!” 

Delia had to close her eyes for a moment; she 
felt suddenly small, and as if overwhelmed by the 
magnitude of a feeling that she herself had never 
known. Her early marriage had been arranged 
by the silly relatives on whom the care of the 
orphan young girl had devolved, and she had 
entered into it more as a schoolgirl’s frolic than 
anything else. Tavemay’s conduct had, there- 
fore, merely wounded to the core her virginal 
delicacy and her pride. But she had never loved 
him. Now she could fathom the depths of this 
great unselfish love, so frankly and unassumingly 
declared — a love free from the perfidious innuen- 
does of other men, who had hoped to see her fall, 
an easy prey to their sensuality. Here all was 
so simple and so pure that she felt almost unworthy 
of Guido’s devotion. He stood before her, looking 
surprisingly handsome, a glorious light of enthusi- 


92 Monsignor Villarosa 

asm in his eyes; he was the real man to whom 
love is a thing above all sacred, and overshadows 
those conventionalities of life held by the great 
majority of mankind the only ones of paramount 
importance. 

All this passed through Delia’s heart in a brief 
second; then, without any of that false modesty 
common to petty feminine souls, she replied to 
him as simply as he had spoken: “Guido, I believe 
you, and ” — she hesitated a second, battling against 
her pride — “and I also love you!” 

Their lips met in one single kiss, so holy, so 
pure, and yet so deep that it welded together 
their hearts in one indissolubly. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE GRIEVANCE'S OF THE PEASANTRY 

While Delia and Guido walked slowly home- 
wards, as if loath to abandon the tranquil nook 
in which the gentle flower of their love had blos- 
somed, as they thought, unseen by all, the yoimg 
officer by no means minimised the importance of 
his duty to his imcle, nor the fact that he was 
bound by his love and gratitude to tell him all at 
once. It was merely a moral obligation, as he 
was fully over age and the possessor of a large 
fortime of his own, but, on account of this, doubly 
binding. 

Delia again became very grave, warning Guido 
that she felt sure that Monsignor Villarosa was 
bound to offer an invincible opposition to their 
plans exclusively upon the ground that she was a 
divorced woman. She was fully aware that the 
Roman Church never deviates from its principles. 
How could it, in self-defence, allow that the insti- 
tution of marriage should be snatched from its 


93 


94 Monsignor Villarosa 

exclusive grasp, or that it should become, what it 
was ever really meant to be, a purely civil contract? 
This would entail too great a diminution of power. 
By instinct, by her education in a family which 
for many generations had suffered from the op- 
pression of a corrupt priestcraft, and by the ex- 
perience she had gathered in her intercourse with 
the ultra-Catholic Tavemays, who coimted several 
high ecclesiastics among them, she nourished a 
deep aversion to the Roman Catholic clergy. Of 
Monsignor Villarosa personally, saving the admira- 
tion expressed by Dr. Sandri, whom she liked and 
esteemed, she knew almost nothing, but she was 
well aware of Guido’s devotion to his uncle, and 
accordingly refrained from saying more than was 
needed on this delicate subject. Then she feared 
that her lover, on her account, would become 
estranged from his relative, this being, she gave 
him to imderstand, the one bitter drop in her full 
cup of happiness. 

Guido, however, seemed little disposed to attrib- 
ute as much importance as she did to the diffi- 
culties looming up on their horizon. He was 
naturally of a very sanguine and optimistic dis- 
position, and furthermore the knowledge that 
every one of his wishes had been fulfilled by his 
devoted uncle prevented him from admitting that, 


The Grievances of the Peasantry 95 

in such an important topic as the happiness of 
his whole life, merely philosophical and dogmatical 
considerations would debar his ''Ziggio” from 
approving the aspirations of his heart. This 
conviction, strenuously asserted, prevented Delia 
from throwing more cold water upon his ardor, 
and, moreover, it was so infectious that, in spite 
of her maturer judgment, she soon rose herself 
to his diapason. 

By the time they reached the villa Guido had 
decided to unburden himself of his secret as soon 
as he returned home. Thoroughly hating deceit, 
the yotmg man had always felt most uncomfort- 
able because of his cautious silence concerning his 
early morning walks, but then he had almost 
been forced into it by the violent terms with 
which the Bishop had denounced the wickedness 
of divorce, not to mention his prejudice against 
any one renting '‘that hateful Villa Meroni.” 
This had shaped Guido’s regrettable policy of 
silence; now, however, all these minor considera- 
tions paled into insignificance, and duty and 
honor compelled him to announce openly and 
at all costs his engagement. His kind uncle, who 
had done so much for him, was, by rights, entitled 
to hear of it at once, even if he did not approve of it. 

After a protracted and tender leave-taking the 


96 Monsignor Villarosa 

young officer rushed up to the Bishop’s office very 
much with the same Uan with which he would 
have charged the enemy, but only to find the 
room empty and deserted. This was a first dis- 
comfiture, and while he stood staring around 
blankly in a vain attempt to solve the riddle, the 
old butler, who had uselessly endeavored to 
intercept him, arrived panting upon the scene 
and handed him a note. It was very brief, 
evidently written under the stress of a powerful 
agitation, and ran thus: 

** My Boy, — I have very important affairs to 
settle in Corgeno and am leaving at once. If 
I do not return in time for dinner, come over to . 
me. As you must leave for Milan on Tuesday, 
you can do so just as well from Corgeno. — 
Lovingly, Ziggio.” 

This note filled Guido with great astonishment 
and even anxiety. He questioned the butler, 
who knew nothing except that a couple of hours 
before Don Paolino, looking as black as thunder, 
had run to the stables, and that in less than twenty 
minutes his Excellency and the secretary had 
left in the landau, ordering the coachman to drive 
fast. This made Guido even more anxious, and 
accordingly he interviewed the housekeeper, who 


The Grievances of the Peasantry 97 

could only tell him that in the morning a messenger 
had arrived from Corgeno and obstinately insisted 
upon seeing Monsignore in spite of the unusual 
hour. These facts, together with the important 
communication he wished to place before his 
uncle, would not allow Guido to wait for an hypo- 
thetical return. In a short time he was gallop- 
ing on the road to Corgeno, after writing a long 
letter of farewell to Delia. 

The Bishop's sudden departure had even more 
serious causes than Guido imagined. The long- 
smouldering agitation among the peasants had 
imexpectedly burst forth, and those on the Villa- 
rosa estate were no exception. For nearly a 
century the property of Corgeno had been en- 
trusted to the stewardship of the Graglia family, 
the fattori in charge. Old Giacomino Gragli, 
that same agent whose letter announcing the 
tragic death of the late Contessa had irremediably 
thrown the young hero of ^‘The Thousand" back 
into the arms of the Church, had died at a very 
advanced age, long after his young master re- 
turned home, and his son, Mario, had, almost as 
a matter of course, stepped into his shoes. Giaco- 
mino Graglia, belonging as he did to the ^^good 
old school," had sedulously robbed his master of 
course, but in an affectionate and almost patriar- 


7 


98 Monsignor Villarosa 

chal manner, which deprived the frauds of much 
of their sting, both as regards the master and the 
peasants. Mario, instead, who had been pre- 
tentiously sent to the High School of Agriculture, 
lacked a moral training, and was disposed to 
plunder much more scientifically and less good- 
naturedly. His father had treated the peasants 
almost as equals, with boisterous, jollity, believing 
that it was the best system to keep their eyes shut, 
and, on account of his keen savoir-faire, they had 
liked him well, and never given a moment’s 
trouble. Mario, on the contrary, thought him- 
self a “gentleman” on the strength of what he 
termed his “superior education,” and therefore 
looked down upon his “inferiors,” as if they had 
been merely created to enrich those above them. 
And finally he had married the daughter of a rich 
fittahile, a dark, handsome, imperious woman whose 
bringing up in the same supercilious disdain of 
the peasantry encouraged him more and more in 
that order of ideas. 

While Villarosa had resided at Corgeno as 
Curato it had been almost impossible for the 
Graglias either to plunder too freely or oppress 
the tenants, but when the master accepted the 
see of Varese, his enforced residence there and his 
many absorbing duties had prevented him from 


The Grievances of the Peasantry 99 

looking closely into the management of the estate. 
Mario had then things all his own way. But 
though far from being one of the worst or even of 
the bad fattori, the agitation brought about by 
the Christian Democrats was bound to create a 
serious break between the peasants and himself. 

The vast conflagration which was destined to 
upset the whole of the Varese district did not, 
however, develop at Corgeno. It began in a 
neighboring estate of great size belonging to the 
young heir of a wealthy family of paper-mill 
owners, who, on account of his ignorance and desire 
to ape in all things the members of that “smart 
set” into which he had just managed to wriggle, 
left all his lands and mills in the hands of worth- 
less or rascally subordinates. When the second 
crop of hay of the year was almost ripe, the peas- 
ants, under the direction of the local branch of 
their association, presented a memorial to their 
master, asking for better pay and shorter hours, 
one lira a day for thirteen hours' work being 
inadequate and unjust. Although the memorial 
was most respectful in its form and moderate in 
its demands, it received no reply whatever, prob- 
ably because the proprietor did not even know of 
it. This cavalier and unwise treatment roused the 
peasants to immediate action : they refused point- 


100 Monsignor Villarosa 

blank to reap the meadows, entailing thus a very 
heavy loss to the owner. 

Instantly the whole countryside was up in arms : 
corresponding strikes broke forth as a token of 
solidarity with the tenants of Varano, Mercallo, 
and Cuvirone. Everywhere the peasants stood 
out for shorter hours and better wages, and at 
Corgeno no less than in the rest of the district. 
Graglia, foolishly, never believed that his men 
would join the ranks of the strikers, and was there- 
fore taken completely by surprise. At first he 
blustered and threatened, but the futility of his 
efforts became immediately evident, and in a 
moment of wild panic he dispatched a messenger 
to Casbenno clamoring for assistance. 

When Villarosa heard of the news his decision 
was instantly taken. He had thoroughly studied 
the economic conditions of the district, and had 
come to the obvious conclusion that the demands 
of the peasants were more than justified. It was 
furthermore an excellent occasion to initiate that 
active movement of reform which he believed 
himself called upon to direct. So the Bishop had 
poor Don Paolino hustled out of the Roccolo, 
where he was absorbed in the reparation of his 
nets, and in spite of all that the worthy secretary 
could object, bundled him into the landau, briskly 


lOI 


The Grievances of the Peasantry 

ordering the coachman to drive them to Corgeno 
as fast as his horses could trot, an injunction which 
greatly scandalised that fat and solemn dignitary, 
accustomed to proceed at a safe and majestic gait. 

Villarosa was all animation and energy, with a 
youthful flush of color upon his delicate cheeks, 
as if the prospect of taking an active part in the 
impending struggle set his blood coursing more 
rapidly through his veins. Don Paolino, on the 
other hand, was the living antithesis of his master : 
he looked preternaturally wise and suspicious, 
and, after the first instinctive burst of protesta- 
tion, remained abnormally silent and moody. 
This did not damp in the least the Bishop’s eager- 
ness, and he talked without ceasing as they drove 
down to the lake and round the bay to Capolago. 
It was terribly hot; the sun sparkled dazzlingly 
over the tranquil waters of the lake, so, when the 
hill of Bodio was reached, the Bishop, rather 
exhausted by the high temperature and the anima- 
tion of his speech, was compelled to lean back and 
rest a while. Don Paolino then thought that his 
opportunity had come, and administered a severe 
lecture to his master: 

*‘What did I tell your Excellency some weeks 
ago? That the peasants were beasts! My words 
have been proved exact, even sooner than I had 


102 Monsignor Villarosa 

supposed. Now look: because the tenants of that 
young fool, Rizzi, have worked themselves up to 
what they call a strike, your own, whom all your 
life you have treated as if they were ornamental 
beings to be petted and spoiled, now turn against 
you, as they say, ‘in sympathy for their oppressed 
brothers!' ‘Oppressed brothers' forsooth! I’d 
give them ‘sympathy,' and plenty of it — with 
the business end of a stick! Oh, if I only had my 
way ! From time immemorial the scoundrels 
have worked for the same price and at the same 
conditions. Why do they want a change, all of a 
sudden? . . . They never made up all that non- 
sense by themselves, no, not they! It’s your 
darling Don Davide, and his precious acolytes, 
and that mischief-making scribbler, Prina, who 
have created this unholy fuss ! What is the world 
coming to, when one sees even a saint and a noble- 
man as your Excellency aiding and abetting a 
band of rebellious, noisy rabble against the legiti- 
mate owners? Your Excellency is silent! My 
words, no doubt, are exercising a salutary effect! 
I am now convinced that at Corgeno your Excel- 
lency will make short shrift of the ragamuffins, 
and that in three words you will put an end to 
this shameful fooling!” 

The carriage was now running easily and 


The Grievances of the Peasantry 103 

smoothly through the woods of the Rogorella, 
and the cool air gave new energy to Monsignore. 
He laughed pleasantly at Paolino’s illusions con- 
cerning the effects of his sermon, then with good- 
natured but relentless irony he observed: 
would enjoy to see my Paolino mowing for thir- 
teen hours under the scorching sun for the magni- 
ficent wage of one lira.’’ Don Paolino threw up 
his arms heavenwards in scandalised protest, as 
if to convey his indignation for such a degrading 
supposition, but the Bishop only laughed again, 
and continued: “You are a big, strong man, my 
son, and it’s only the merest chance that you are 
not among them! How would you enjoy the 
labor and the pay?” Then with one of his 
lightning changes of mood, he added with a great 
depth of feeling: “For shame, man, for shame! 
How can you be so cruel and relentless to your 
own flesh and blood?” 

This argumentum ad hominem was well-nigh 
unanswerable, but the secretary would not admit 
his discomfiture, so with no little spite in his tone, 
he grumbled: “Brothers . . . brothers! Your 
Excellency always harps upon that argument. 
Of one thing I am all the same quite positive: 
I would not certainly act as they do!” Then he 
relapsed into his moody silence. 


104 Monsignor Villarosa 

The carriage had passed through Inarzo, turn- 
ing to the Lake of Varano, and they were now 
skirting the great meadows of the Brabbia, with 
its pools, near the old turf -bog, glittering as jewels 
in the sunlight. These were the meadows which 
the Rizzi peasantry had refused to mow, and their 
gorgeous mass of bloom was just beginning to 
wither on account of the great heat and drought 
of the preceding days. Paolino’s native instinct 
was hurt to the quick as he instantly realised that 
a magnificent crop of hay was jeopardised by what 
he considered to be the wicked folly and obstinacy 
of the tenants. With a sweeping gesture he 
dramatically pointed out the meadows to Mon- 
signore, and cried out indignantly: ‘‘Look at 
that! look at that! See — a couple of days more 
and all will be irretrievably ruined and lost ! Oh, 
the scoundrels . . . the scoundrels!*’ 

“Whom are you condemning?” the Bishop 
questioned, with scathing irony. “If it is those 
men who advised young Rizzi not to be just and 
humane with the poor toilers, then you and I are 
perfectly agreed.” 

This was too much even for Don Paolino’s 
equanimity. He was about to burst forth with a 
violent philippic when the landau abruptly stopped 
short to allow another carriage driven at break- 


The Grievances of the Peasantry 105 

neck speed to pass by. It was a carretella, a kind 
of rough, four-wheeled chaise, with an extra- 
ordinary tall and lanky mare in the shafts, lashed 
to furious speed by no less a personage than Don 
Felice Ranzi. Recognising the Bishop, the Curat o 
of La Cascinetta reined in so violently and sud- 
denly his Bucephalus that the poor animal almost 
squatted on its haunches, while its owner, bouncing 
in the midst of the dusty road, ran up to the 
landau. The priest was evidently almost frantic 
with excitement and accordingly very incoherent, 
but somehow he managed to stutter: 

^‘Your Excellency is bound for Corgeno, I’m 
sure. It’s high time to castigate these infamous 
rascals and thieves! We need troops, police, and 
let them shoot without mercy I It’s two hundred 
quintals of hay, fourteen hundred lire of good 
money, I’m losing, and it’s not your Excellency 
who’ll make good! When you get to Corgeno 
you’ll see the difference between sitting down to 
write Pastorals and facing those hounds as I did ! 
They nearly stoned me at Lomazzo — the mur- 
derous beasts — and ’tis all due to the mad infatu- 
ation of your Excellency!” 

This violent attack, so remarkably at variance 
with Ranzi ’s usual obsequiousness and servility, 
caused Monsignore to recoil as if struck, and it 


io6 Monsignor Villarosa 

required all of his self-control not to give the in- 
furiated priest the lesson he so richly deserved. 
The Bishop realised that he would become in- 
volved in an undignified squabble on the open 
road and in the presence of servants, so he bit his 
lip and was just about to reply when Don Paolino, 
who, though sympathising with Ranzi inasmuch 
as he was a landlord, abhorred this “black-faced 
bully,” jumped up so threateningly in defence of 
his beloved master that Ranzi, highly alarmed, 
sprang back a couple of steps and assumed a semi- 
defensive attitude. Purple, and shaking with 
anger, the secretary was going to speak when 
Villarosa silenced him with tranquil but irresistible 
dignity: 

“Be silent, Paolino, and sit down at once! I 
make great allowances for your agitated condi- 
tion, Don Felice, and will accordingly forget your 
disrespect. Remember that you are reaping 
what you have sown. Drive on, Giovanni.” 

The landau started at a rapid pace, leaving Don 
Felice gasping for rage in the middle of the road. 
When again capable of speech, he furiously shook 
his fist after the fast receding carriage, and hissed 
through his teeth: “Curse him and his secretary! 
What if I had told that stuck up old fool of his 
precious nephew^s freaks with that divorced 


The Grievances of the Peasantry 107 

female? But I’ll pay them back!” Thus vowing 
vengeance, he slowly resumed his journey. 

This painful incident cast a shadow upon the 
rest of the drive: Villarosa and Don Paolino were 
silent and preoccupied until they reached Corgeno, 
not more than a couple of miles farther. Usually 
when a carriage rumbled through the narrow 
street, paved with cobblestones, men, women, and 
children used to rush out tumultuously from the 
houses to witness the somewhat unfrequent specta- 
cle. And when it happened to be the ^‘master,’’ 
there ever was a great uncovering of heads and 
waving of hands, while all countenances were 
wreathed in smiles, and most of the onlookers ran 
after the carriage to be the first to speak to his 
Excellency and obtain his blessing. This time 
the picture was startlingly different. The houses 
looked empty and deserted, as if closed up and 
barred in suUen silence. Not a soul in the street, 
only an old crony or two, who shambled along 
and bowed as if from sheer force of habit. 

This unexpected reception sent a great chill 
through Villarosa ’s heart, and Don Paolino ejacu- 
lated an eloquent '‘Holy Virgin!” under his 
breath. The Bishop had ever been loved by his 
peasants as much as their selfish temperaments 
and their stunted moral growth would allow, 


io8 Monsignor Villarosa 

especially as their master’s perfect life and the 
tenderness of his sacerdotal ministrations had 
impressed them with profound, yet undefined, 
sentiments of awe and respect. Of course, and 
in spite of all these feelings, they were ever re- 
morselessly ready to take undue advantage of his 
kindness; but that was part of their natures, the 
imconscious consequence of the law of reprisal, 
handed down to them by an immemorial heredity 
of ignorance and oppression, although in this case 
it was qualified by a mutual good-humor and 
tolerance, as if the peasants wished to say: 
“We know you know, and you know we 
know!” 

In this guise they reached the old mansion, 
ambitiously known as the Gastello, when the 
carriage had to stop short, instead of driving 
straight in. Contrarily to the unfailing habit, 
the massive gates of the garden were carefully 
locked and barred, so that the footman had to 
bang vigorously upon them to awaken the atten- 
tion of the inmates. The Bishop, who looked 
extremely displeased with these extraordinary 
measures, turned rather sharply upon the white- 
bearded overseer who came to open, demanding 
an explanation, when Graglia and his wife rushed 
out breathlessly to welcome the master. 


The Grievances of the Peasantry 109 

Then, before the Bishop could open his mouth, 
the fattore poured out in an unending stream his 
thanks for his Excellency's immediate and un- 
hoped for arrival. However, the very exaggera- 
tion of the terms made the speech sound much 
less genuine than intended, and Monsignore, still 
laboring under the impleasant impression caused 
by the sombre aspect of his village and by the 
closed gates of the Gastello, repeatedly waved his 
hand in an attempt to stem the torrent. But it 
was in vain, so, at last, he interrupted the fattore 
by exclaiming, not too patiently: “That’s right, 
Mario, that’s all right. Tm here, of course Tm 
here, and I want to hear all about it, but quietly 
and in reply to my questions. So let’s go at once 
to the office, and have it out!” 

This plan, however, did not appear to please 
either Graglia or his wife, for the latter, express- 
ing great concern about the material welfare of 
his Excellency, urged that he should first partake 
of some light refreshment, and then rest for a 
while after the long and dusty drive. Although 
strongly sustained by Don Paolino, who was 
thoroughly acquainted with her housekeeping 
abilities, the lady failed to tempt Villarosa, who 
never relished overmuch the showy airs of “la 
Signora Graglia,” and so he assured her, cour- 


no Monsignor Villarosa 

teously though peremptorily, that he was neither 
thirsty nor tired. 

That sorely discomfited lady having departed, 
the Bishop, followed by Graglia and Don Paolino, 
adjourned at once to the cosy apartment, named 
^'office,” in which the books were kept and the 
business of the estate transacted. Monsignore 
sat in the arm-chair usually occupied by the 
fattorey at the great table strewn with circulars, 
seedsmen’s catalogues, and other miscellaneous 
scraps of paper, with the other two occupying 
chairs in front of him. According to his habit, 
as soon as seated, Monsignore picked up the first 
bit of paper within reach of his hand, and kept 
mechanically playing with it, not noticing in the 
least the repressed gesture of fear which escaped 
the fattore. 

Graglia, in reply to his master’s inquiries, then 
exposed his views on the situation. It was a 
most ticklish subject to treat, and needed all his 
wits to steer prudently among the dangerous 
rocks and quicksands it metaphorically presented. 
Graglia was of course fully aware of the Bishop’s 
opinions, of the approval and of the protection he 
had unstintingly granted to Don Davide Capelletti 
and to his association, but, on the other hand, he 
was convinced that the situation required resolute 


The Grievances of the Peasantry iii 

and radical remedies which would in future deter 
the peasants from such perilous agitations. How- 
ever, the fattore committed one very serious error. 
Because Villarosa had never interfered with the 
management of the estate and was the easiest 
man to deal with he had ever met, Graglia thor- 
oughly misjudged his power of penetration, while, 
not tmnaturally, for he had but his own inferior 
standard of morals to go by, he imagined that the 
damage inflicted to the Bishop’s personal inter- 
ests would effectively upset all the prelate’s 
^^humanitarian nonsense” and make him consider 
the peasants’ agitation in a very different light. 

Villarosa listened patiently and with unflagging 
attention to the minute description of all the par- 
ticulars of the unexpected strike, nor even seem- 
ing to notice the sundry covert hints and thrusts 
about the Peasants’ League. By esprit de corps, 
if for no other reasons, Graglia steadfastly main- 
tained that the agents of the Rizzi estate, not 
only had been fair and honest in their treatment 
of the peasants, but that they had ever been most 
considerate and kind. As to the demeanor of 
his own people, no words were strong enough to 
brand the boundless wickedness of their conduct, 
considering the exaggerated, and almost ridiculous 
leniency with which they had ever been treated. 


1 12 Monsignor Villarosa 

On this subject Graglia dilated at great length, 
while Don Paolino with a most eloquent mimicry 
implicitly approved the fattore's philippic. 

At last Graglia closed his lengthy oration, and 
Villarosa, with a very audible sigh of relief, replied : 
^‘You have given us a very clear and complete 
statement of the facts, Mario, from your point of 
view. But, while I thank you for it, I wish to 
hear the other side. It is only justice I should, 
so send at once for the Board of the Corgeno 
League, which, according to you, managed this 
strike, and let us hear what they have to say!’' 

The fattore's jaw fell most expressively, and 
Don Paolino shrugged his shoulders as if in hope- 
less despair, but the calm, though unanswerable, 
authority with which those words had been ut- 
tered left no loophole of escape. Though Graglia, 
it must be remembered, was by no means one of 
the most unjust and thieving members of his class, 
yet he had upon his conscience numberless deeds 
of petty spoliation and partiality, which he feared 
would be exposed, so he ‘"hemm’d” and ‘"haw’d” 
for a moment, but under the cold, unswerving 
glance of the master, he had no alternative but 
to obey. The fattore left the room and was 
heard in the passage mumbling directions to the 
overseer; then there came the sound of a more 


The Grievances of the Peasantry 113 

distant voice, stormily remonstrating. La Signora 
Graglia was evidently berating her husband as a 
bungler and a fool. 

As Graglia re-entered the office announcing 
that his Excellency's orders had been obeyed, 
Villarosa casually looked at the letter with which 
he had been toying, and saw that it was directed 
to “The Administration of the Villarosa Estate." 
He perused it rapidly, then read it over a second 
time with profound attention. It was an invita- 
tion to Graglia, in his quality of fattore of Corgeno, 
to be present at a private meeting of the principal 
landlords of the district for the purpose of pre- 
paring a collective and stringent action against 
the strikers. This meeting was convened for 
eleven o'clock next day at the Castle of Taino, 
belonging to the Marchese Longhi, and was 
called by a “committee," at the head of which 
was Conte Lorenzo Meravigli, universally known 
for his great territorial wealth, his tyrannical rule 
of the peasants, his insufferable suffisancCy and 
his rabid clericalism. 

In a flash Villarosa saw through the clever machi- 
nation. The promoters, well aware of the attitude 
he had assumed towards the claims of the Christian 
Democrats, were loath to let him know of their 
plans, but as it would have been unwise not to 
8 


1 14 Monsignor Villarosa 

include in their list such an important landlord 
as himself, they decided to address the invitation 
to the fattore, whom they knew to be heart and 
soul with them. They obtained thus the double 
advantage of eliminating the very awkward pos- 
sibility of the Bishop’s presence at their meeting, 
and of compromising him irremediably, as nobody 
would imagine that his representative had acted 
without his express authorisation and mandate. 
As most people, they had fallen into the error of 
imagining that Villarosa’s attitude was merely 
the outcome of a desire to create *‘a noise” around 
himself, and that all this “fuss,” as they called it, 
would disappear when his own landed interests 
were at stake. Now a mere chance had upset 
their deep-laid plans. Before the terrible flash 
of anger in the Bishop’s eyes, Graglia caught his 
breath with a gasp and sunk his head in abject 
confusion and terror. Don Paolino, fully in the 
dark, of course, looked from one to the other in a 
vain attempt to comprehend what had occurred, 
then at last the ominous silence was broken by 
the clarion-like tones of Villarosa’s voice, which 
rang out with startling force : 

“You would have gone to this meeting without 
consulting me — without even mentioning the 
fact that it had been called? You would have 


The Grievances of the Peasantry 115 

taken pledges in my name and decided upon what 
ought to be done without my orders or my con- 
sent — aye, against them! That was an able 
move, no doubt, and, I will add, a rascally one, 
both on your part and on that of the promoters of 
the meeting! But God has prevented this in- 
iquity, and all is for the best, for I, myself, the 
owner of Corgeno, will be present to-morrow at 
Taino! I advise you, sir, that if upon another 
occasion you wish to deceive your employer, you 
must take better care and not forget such com- 
promising documents ! ’ * 

Graglia turned as pale as a sheet : there was no 
overestimating the gravity of the accusation, 
and the tone of the impeachment made it still 
more serious. Never before had Villarosa ad- 
dressed him by the term of “sir,” and he lost all 
control over himself. In a rush of angry words, 
he violently denounced the peasants, who had 
repeatedly threatened him and his, so that he 
went in fear of his life and had been forced to bar- 
ricade the gates to protect the inmates of the 
Gastello. It was impossible for him to continue 
in his work ; the very master who ought to uphold 
his authority was openly undermining it and 
setting it at naught. Monsignore would rue the 
day before long, but then it would be too late! 


ii6 Monsignor Villarosa 

Don Paolino's face, during this impassioned 
harangue, was a study to behold ; he was evidently 
torn asunder by his love for Villarosa and by his 
own convictions, which tallied entirely with 
Graglia's words. He wished to resent the violent 
onslaught upon his idol, yet found no satisfactory 
words with which to do so. So he kept on 
gesticulating at random, in the wild hope of 
stemming the flood. 

The Bishop, his handsome face aflame with 
immitigated defiance and contempt, did not utter 
a word until the fattore had to stop short for lack 
of breath, then in those cold, calm tones, which, 
being remarkably infrequent with him, invested 
his words with supreme aloofness and dignity, he 
replied: think, sir, that I have heard quite 

enough. You are no longer a fit person to super- 
vise my estate, and I question now whether you 
were ever such. Your deception settles the ques- 
tion, and as you consider your life and that of 
your family in peril, you will leave Corgeno at 
once. Your services are no longer needed; hence- 
forth I will manage the estate myself.'' 

This unexpected decision was so radical that 
Don Paolino, in genuine dismay, rose to his feet, 
overturning his chair, and cried out: “Your Excel- 
lency — your Excellency ! Think ! Consider ! ’ ’ 


The Grievances of the Peasantry 117 

One imperious sign of the Bishop’s hand, one fierce 
look of his expressive eyes silenced the poor secre- 
tary so thoroughly that he fell back, crushed and 
mortified. As to Graglia, he was annihilated. 
He had, to be sure, a very comfortable fortune 
accumulated by his father’s fifty years of pltmder, 
and greatly increased by his own, so the financial 
consequences of his dismissal, though of course 
entailing a serious diminution of income, did not 
dismay him; it was the loss of prestige and social 
status inherent to the position of fattore for the 
powerful and highly reverenced Villarosa family 
which he could not stomach. So at first he pro- 
tested, then tried to play upon Villarosa’s tender 
heart. He recalled the secular and devoted 
services of his family, lachrymosely pointing out 
that as a recompense for these he was 
now ruthlessly thrown on the bounty of the 
world. 

Monsignore never wavered for a moment; how- 
ever, with inveterate kindness he hastened to add 
that it was his intention to pension him off hand- 
somely, so that not only he would financially lose 
very little, but his dismissal could not be adversely 
commented upon and imputed to damaging causes. 
This assurance went a long way to soothe the 
fattore, though he still occasionally snivelled 


ii8 Monsignor Villarosa 

plaintively and mopped his tear-stained face with 
a huge colored handkerchief. 

Then there came a discreet knock at the door, 
and the old overseer ushered in a group of seven 
peasants, the local Board of the League. All of 
them were men in the prime of life, though looking 
years older than their age, because of their lifelong 
exposure to the weather and the hard and unceas- 
ing labor to which they had been submitted from 
their earliest childhood. Clumsily they slouched 
in, twirling their battered hats in their gnarled 
fingers, and, as there had been no time for them 
to go home from the fields out of which they had 
been hastily summoned, their opened shirts ex- 
posed their shaggy breasts and knotty, sun-baked 
arms. It was impossible to read upon their 
countenances any signs of what was going on in 
their brains; their stolid and listless faces were as 
barred and closed as their houses, this impenetra- 
ble blankness being their one invulnerable armor 
against those above them, whom an immemorial 
atavism had taught them to consider as their 
worst and natural enemies. Their shifting, un- 
steady eyes persistently frustrated all efforts to 
fix them, and from the very first it was painfully 
evident that they would do their utmost not to 
vouchsafe an explicit reply to a definite question. 


The Grievances of the Peasantry 119 

At the bottom of it all an ancient, pent-up accumu- 
lation of hatred could be detected, a hatred stored 
up and gloated upon through countless generations, 
and which was now assuming an aggressive form 
as the consciousness of the gigantic though un- 
tutored power of their numbers had begun to 
filter down through the dark, unexplored recesses 
of their elemental souls. 

Villarosa, however, stood in an exceptional 
position. The years during which he had been 
their Curato and the loving care of his religious 
ministrations were still uncancelled from their 
minds. He had baptised, confessed, married 
most of these men, and all remembered him by 
the deathbed of some one very dear to them. 
Then the fact that he was a Bishop, a high digni- 
tary of that Church the influence of which was 
paramount among them, gave still greater weight 
to his personal authority. In these conditions. 
Monsignore set hopefully and patiently to the 
task of overcoming their stony diffidence; he 
addressed each man in turn by his Christian name, 
and, of course, in their own harsh dialect, this 
very simple artifice being that which more than 
any other could overcome their repellent shyness. 

Though never losing sight of the aim in view, 
Villarosa did not go straight to the point, well 


120 Monsignor Villarosa 

knowing that in so doing he would lose all chances 
of success; he first made many inquiries about 
their families and affairs, with that wonderful 
quickness of memory which seems to be one of 
the great innate gifts peculiar to those destined 
to rule the masses. But from the first it seemed 
as if he was doomed to fail, as even his all-con- 
quering charm had no effect upon their sullen 
defensiveness. Don Paolino from his corner gave 
visible and unmistakable signs of indignation, for 
he was worked up to boiling-point by such hardness 
of heart. Graglia, moody and frowning, appeared 
as totally disinterested in the whole affair, though 
in a subdolous fashion, he had repeatedly tried 
to catch the eye of some one of the members of 
the deputation, hoping vaguely that his erstwhile 
dreaded authority would compel them to modify 
their eventual replies or at least to be cautiously 
non-committal. The peasants were, however, too 
much upon their guard; they studiously avoided 
even to look at him, and the conference would 
have lagged pitifully if unawares Don Paolino 
had not brought it to a climax. Unable to restrain 
himself any longer at the sight of his own younger 
brother, who looked even more unresponsive than 
the others, he suddenly addressed him pointedly 
by name, crying out at the top of his voice : 


The Grievances of the Peasantry 12 1 

“Peppino, you blockhead, can't you answer 
straight out when the master asks you a question?" 

This happened so suddenly and unexpectedly 
that the Bishop had no chance of silencing his 
secretary, as he would undoubtedly have done, 
fearing that this ill-timed burst of anger might 
stultify all his efforts. But to his relief. Mon- 
signore saw that just the opposite had taken 
place; the rough and energetic appeal of one who 
almost belonged to their numbers spurred them 
on to open speech. The president of the local 
League, a little old man with a keen, furrowed face 
and shrewd, deep-set eyes, stepped forward and 
addressed the master. At first he spoke brokenly 
and almost incomprehensibly, then, seeing the 
deep interest depicted on Villarosa's sensitive face, 
the newly acquired consciousness of the wrongs 
so long withstood by his class lent him words and 
the courage to utter them. And as he spoke a 
certain rude and primitive eloquence became 
apparent, which filled the fattore^s heart with 
rage and dismay, and sorely perplexed Don Paolino. 

All the acts of favoritism, the undue pressures, 
the robberies, large and small, the lack of con- 
sideration and humanity, the moral abuse, were 
poured forth in an appalling array. Never im- 
peachment of an entire system was more thorough 


122 Monsignor Villarosa 

or more pitiless in its unadorned simplicity, and 
the Bishop’s high sense of justice was shocked to 
its profoundest fibres. And as he proceeded the 
peasant did not spare the landowners themselves: 
they had ever lived aloof from those who were 
their dependents, as if in another world, in a con- 
tented oblivion of their duties, even the kindest 
among them, even those admired for their charity 
and generosity. What did the landlords know 
about their peasants, their feelings and their 
aspirations? Had they ever endeavored to win 
their confidence and love by that real brotherhood 
which is not merely restricted to the doling out 
of alms or to self-glorifying gifts on solemn oc- 
casions? No, they had ever profited by their 
incessant work without troubling about the hard- 
ships it entailed, they had maintained their 
fastuous luxury upon the sweat of the toilers, with 
less consideration and thought than they gave the 
horses in their stables, far better housed and fed 
than their tenants, and now even the most hard- 
hearted and cruel among the landlords babbled 
of thanklessness and ingratitude on the peasants’ 
part! But a new dawn had risen! An inspiring 
message of hope had reached them in their misery, 
a message of better days to come, and they were 
going to realise its promises at all costs, for it had 


The Grievances of the Peasantry 123 

been conveyed to them by the voice of their 
pastors, the representatives upon earth of God 
Himself, who, by intercession of the Blessed Virgin, 
had taken pity at last on their anguish and 
suffering ! 

The old man stopped at last from sheer exhaus- 
tion, for never before in his whole existence had 
he uttered so many words at one stretch, and there 
came a subdued murmur of approbation from his 
colleagues, who closed instinctively around him 
as if to shield him from the revengeful fury of the 
Jattore, and, may be, from that of the master. 
They had grossly misjudged Villarosa and were 
culpably ignorant of the nobility of his great soul. 
Even they, as the landlords whom they so bitterly 
denounced, had never cared to penetrate its in- 
wardness, and had always kept it, as it were, at 
arm’s-length from their own. 

Villarosa understood it all. He was far from 
being angry against the peasants, but the words 
which had fallen from the lips of that untutored 
old man had sunken deeply into the recesses of 
his heart, never to be forgotten. More than ever 
he was convinced that a Heaven-sent mission had 
been assigned to him, more than ever he was ready 
to sacrifice all to the great cause he had espoused. 
With his expressive face suffused by a blush of 


124 Monsignor Villarosa 

honest shame and indignation, with his eyes ablaze 
with the fire of a great resolution, he stepped for- 
ward and laid his shapely hand on the shoulder of 
the uncouth and rugged peasant. Slowly, with 
a commanding sweetness, his words broke the 
heavy silence reigning in the room : 

“I thank you, my good Centeu. Not in my 
whole life will I forget a single one of your words. 
Know ye all that I humbly declare that I have 
erred as much as the other landlords, nay, more 
than them all, because neither as your shepherd 
nor as your master have I fully accomplished my 
duty. Now all will change, I pledge you my 
solemn word, and we must henceforth work to- 
gether for the common good. Be as truthful, as 
thoughtful, and as charitable as you are strong, 
and, with God’s help, we will redress all evils.” 

A short pause ensued : even the peasants under- 
stood that a great victory was theirs, a victory 
obtained, not by their force, but vouchsafed to 
them by a man whom they had believed a natural 
enemy, and whose ideals soared far above their 
comprehension. Then, lifting majestically his 
right hand to impart the Benediction, Villarosa 
saw them all fall heavily to their knees and de- 
voutly bend their heads to receive it. The son- 
orous Latin of the rubric rang melodiously in the 


The Grievances of the Peasantry 125 

deep silence, and then the deputation filed out on 
the tips of their toes, crossing themselves devoutly, 
as if they were coming out of church. 

When the Bishop, Don Paolino, and Graglia 
were once more alone, for a while no one spoke, 
then, almost simultaneously, Don Paolino and 
Graglia came forward as if to speak, but Mon- 
signore, his nerves still tingling under the impres- 
sions he had experienced, turned imperiously 
upon them, and in a tone which brooked of no 
reply, nipped in the bud their evidently polemical 
intentions. 

“Not a word more!” he thundered; “do not 
forget that I, and I alone, am the master here.” 
And without deigning to look round, he stalked 
out of the office. 


CHAPTER V 


THE MEETING AT TAINO CASTLE 

A FEW hours later Guido cantered up the main 
street of Corgeno, and found the villagers in a 
wild state of excitement, such as he had never 
witnessed before. He knew them to be rather a 
surly set, stolid, unresponsive creatures, devoid 
of enthusiasm, sympathy, and even feeling, so he 
was by no means prepared to find the small, irregu- 
larly shaped square in front of the family man- 
sion thronged with men, women, and children, 
who almost fought to enter the gates, and were 
shouting themselves hoarse with piercing cries 
of “Viva Monsignore!” alternating with others 
of “Abasso i Graglial” They opened a lane 
to let him pass through, many of his boy friends 
grinning broadly as he went by, while the girls 
dug each other in the ribs at the sight of the good- 
looking officer. But, superficial observer though 
he was, with his mind preoccupied and worried 
by many doubts and fears, he could not help 
126 


The Meeting at Taino Castle 127 

noticing a sudden and subtle transformation which 
had taken place in the peasants' demeanor. It 
was far less cringing and subservient, but also 
remarkably less respectful and considerate; there 
was a sort of triumphant irony in their greeting^ 
something that grated disagreeably upon his 
nerves and roused his hereditary instincts of 
absolute domination. He felt that he would have 
been inclined to charge the rabble with his himt- 
ing-crop and give them a thrashing, but that the 
same rabble would turn upon him and tear him 
to pieces. 

He dismounted before the hall, handed his 
horse to the footman, who stood rather sheepishly 
guarding the entrance, bidding him to take the 
mare to the stables and see that she should be well 
attended to. Then he ran up the steps and, un- 
announced, made his way to the larger sitting- 
room, from which strange soimds of wailing and 
crying were issuing, together with the rumble of 
many voices. As he opened the door a somewhat 
ludicrous sight caused him to stop short on the 
threshold, undecided what to do. 

Monsignore was standing in the middle of the 
rather empty room, and the Signora Graglia, on 
her knees before him, had surrounded his lower 
limbs with her plump and shapely arms, as if 


128 Monsignor Villarosa 

trying to hide her tearful face within the ample 
folds of the episcopal gown, while she moaned and 
sobbed and shrieked that his Excellency must save 
her poor Mario and herself. Villarosa’s handsome 
and refined countenance was a picture to look at; 
the blush overspreading his cheeks brightened 
and rejuvenated his eyes, while dignity and humor 
played around his sensitive mouth as he tried to 
preserve his equilibrium and his shieux^ both 
greatly endangered by the onslaught of the buxom 
matron. Don Paolino was attempting to loosen 
forcibly the tightening grip of the lady, and ad- 
monishing her at the top of his voice that the 
floor was slippery and she would make Monsignore 
tumble, while in a comer Graglia stood bellowing 
“Holy Mother !’" at regular intervals. 

Guido, hardly restraining his hilarity, relieved 
the situation by his timely arrival; seeing him, 
the Bishop managed to tear himself from that 
forcible embrace, and hurried towards his nephew, 
exclaiming: “Arrived at last! I’m happy to see 
you, as your presence is much needed, and I have 
much to tell you.” Then, turning to the Graglias, 
he continued in a studiously matter-of-fact man- 
ner: “You had better now prepare for your de- 
parture; you have absolutely nothing to fear; the 
peasants are only expressing rather noisily their 


The Meeting at Taino Castle 129 

opinions, and in a few minutes I will see to it 
myself that they all return peaceably to their 
houses; so there's nothing to interfere with you." 

The Signora Graglia and her worthy spouse, 
in spite of all that had taken place, persisted in 
believing that the Bishop's decision of dismissing 
them was due only to a momentary irritation, 
occasioned by the discovery of the trick which 
was to be played upon himself ; and that, notwith- 
standing his fine words to the League's deputation, 
his instincts of aristocrat and landlord would 
undoubtedly prevail in the end and he would ask 
them to remain. But the cool, businesslike man- 
ner in which Monsignore was settling all for their 
immediate exodus dispelled this illusion, and 
accordingly the signora's suppliant attitude was 
instantly transformed into one of coarse and bold 
defiance. “Come along and pack, Mario," she 
sneered addressing her husband, but really mean- 
ing it for Villarosa. “When counts and cut- 
throats combine, and Garibaldini rule the Church, 
it's high time for God-fearing folk to get out of the 
way." And she bounced out of the room, with 
her husband at her heels, before any one could 
reply, though both Guido and Don Paolino had 
sprung indignantly forward. 

But the Bishop did not seem either irritated 


9 


130 Monsignor Villarosa 

or struck by the words of the woman; he slightly 
nodded to himself as if in confirmation of some- 
thing he had always suspected. He touched re- 
strainingly his nephew’s arm, and whispered to 
him: ^‘Qui de gladio ferit, de gladio perit!” then 
louder he went on: “Now, I will say a few words 
to those good children outside, later we will hold 
counsel. Paolino, my son, do not look so glum, 
for Heaven’s sake! Remember that the peasants 
are fully in the right, and we, the landlords, in 
the wrong, that this wrong has lasted for centuries 
and centuries, and ... so come on both of you.” 

Outside the crowd had grown even more com- 
pact and was indefatigably alternating its cries of 
“Viva Villarosa!” and “Abasso i Graglia!” But 
it was a strangely disciplined crowd; not a flower 
in the old-fashioned parterres had been plucked 
or trampled, men going even so far as to unmer- 
cifully cuff any urchin attempting to purloin a 
blossom. When Monsignore appeared on the 
terrace one unanimous, tremendous shout of 
“Viva Villarosa!” thundered out from the crowd, 
then, as by a preconcerted arrangement, an instant 
and solemn silence prevailed, the more striking 
that it followed without transition a great volume 
of noise. The Bishop looked with great affection, 
not wholly unmixed with pride, down upon the 


The Meeting at Taino Castle 131 

crowd he apparently dominated so thoroughly, 
then his voice swelled in the expecting hush. 

'‘My children,’’ he said, “Centeu and the other 
boys must have told you what I think of your 
just complaints. You and I are going to work 
hand in hand to correct all that is wrong; we can 
do it easily, but only on condition that perfect 
trust and confidence should reign between us. 
Now, children, go home! Graglia is leaving in 
a few minutes; as a proof of our imderstanding, 
let him depart without a murmur; remember he 
acted according to his best lights, and that you 
can afford to be generous. Now go!” And 
again he raised his right hand, with the index and 
medium extended. 

Instantly the crowd reverently knelt with al- 
most military simultaneousness, and the Bishop 
slowly and impressively imparted the Benediction, 
after which the crowd shouted one more resonant 
"Viva Villarosa!” and disbanded with startling 
rapidity. In a very few minutes the garden, the 
square in front of the mansion, and even the 
streets were deserted and not a soul to be seen. 

From the terrace Villarosa watched compla- 
cently this absolute obedience to his orders; he 
turned smilingly upon Don Paolino, standing by 
his side, patted him affectionately on the shoulder. 


132 Monsignor Villarosa 

crying with exultation: ^‘See, you everlasting 
croaker, see? These people whom you libel so 
shockingly are strong and good and generous, if 
you only know how to treat them. Educate and 
develop them, and they will truly become the 
backbone and sinew of our country. Admit for 
once that you are in the wrong !’^ 

The perturbed countenance of the secretary 
did not clear; still frowning heavily, he shook his 
head dejectedly and replied: “May Heaven will 
that your Excellency should be right! They are 
obedient and devoted . . . to-day . . . the wily 
wretches; they can afford it ... as they have 
won; but wait a little while . . . and then 
you'll see. You’ll hear another tune, and no 
mistake!” 

Monsignore impatiently waved his hand. The 
stubborn obstinacy of Don Paolino, who, he 
instinctively felt, must have a profound knowledge 
of his race, bom and bred in him, disconcerted 
and troubled him, for it sapped at the same time 
his innocent vanity and the noble aspirations of 
his altmistic nature. So, especially after giving 
a free wing to both, it hurt him keenly to admit, 
even if it was only to his own innermost con- 
science, that there must be a large amount of 
truth in Don Paolino’s adverse predictions. In a 


The Meeting at Taino Castle 133 

hurried fashion he therefore directed the conver- 
sation to other channels. 

“All is now settled. Of course, Graglia has 
his own trap and horse, and they must be going 
to La Cascinetta, as the signora owns her father’s 
old home. Their luggage and furniture will go 
to-morrow with our carts . . . and that’s ended, 
anyhow. You, Guido, my boy, must accompany 
them to the end of the village, though it’s perfectly 
useless. The peasants will not stir. They are 
implicit in their obedience. When you have done, 
join us at once, for I still have much to tell you.” 

Guido did not relish overmuch the mission 
entrusted to him ; he was not in any way biassed 
concerning the Graglias, but he never had liked 
them, and at the same time he could not wholly 
approve of this sudden dismissal, though, of course, 
he ignored its motives. Accustomed, however, 
to obey unquestioningly his uncle’s orders, he 
rapidly went over to the stables, and found there 
the overseer harnessing Graglia’s horse and pre- 
paring his trap. The old man, seeing the Contino, 
whom he had known since he had been brought 
to Corgeno, a wee mite, unburdened himself to 
him of his sombre forebodings; he felt part and 
parcel of the old and now shattered order of things, 
and despondingly feared that he, too, must leave; 


134 Monsignor Villarosa 

but, by instinct and training a sort of human 
watchdog, he remained unswervingly loyal to 
Graglia, whom he considered by a comprehen- 
sible though mistaken sentiment even more his 
master than Monsignore himself. Guido at once 
proceeded to assauge the old man’s fears : 

“Tut, tut, Girola! Of course uncle cannot do 
without you — ^you, the best overseer of the entire 
Varesotto. Don’t be idiot, man; you’ll never 
leave Corgeno; no fear of that!” 

The overseer paused an instant in his work, 
mopped his forehead, uncovering his heavy mop 
of white hair, and, stroking pensively his big 
silvery beard, confidentially murmured: “The end 
of the world is near, Contino, and no mistake. I 
was seventy -five last Martinmas, and I mayn’t 
live to see it; but ’tis at hand all the same! To 
think that there’s not going to be a Graglia, 
fattore of Corgeno, any longer; that the master, 
and he a Count and a Bishop, is siding with those 
lazy good-for-nothings the peasants! I’ll stay 
all right if his Excellency allows it, but from now 
henceforth it is mighty little I will be able to do 
to keep those ragamuffins within reasonable 
bounds.” 

He would have said more, but at that moment 
the door of the Graglia’s kitchen was violently 


The Meeting at Taino Castle 135 

thrown open, and Signora Graglia sailed forth, 
looking quite the lady in her silk dress and flowered 
hat, followed by her disconcerted and rather 
frightened-looking husband. As she came out 
she flashed from her large, bold black eyes a glance 
at the good-looking officer, which he rightly in- 
terpreted, remembering the rather disreputable 
tales current about her, then, with the greatest 
ease, she walked up to him. 

“We are going,” she said, “and we are going 
home. Thank Heaven we still have a roof over 
our heads, though no thanks for it to those for 
whom the Graglias have slaved during a century!” 
Then, seeing an ominous frown gather upon the 
young man’s brow, womanlike she shunted to 
another track: “And if in your rides. Signor 
Contino, you pass by La Cascinetta, I will be 
proud to welcome you to anything there is in the 
house.” 

Guido rather stiffiy bowed his thanks, and, 
turning to the fattore, who was fussily engaged in 
a wholly superfluous examination of the harness, 
said in a matter-of-fact and rather curt fashion: 
“If you’re ready, Graglia, we’ll go. Uncle wishes 
me to escort you out of the village, though he 
thinks it quite unnecessary; so please walk the 
horse that I may keep up. Ready, eh?” 


136 Monsignor Villarosa 

heart is breaking ... to leave Corgeno, 
where I was born and bred, and at my age . . . 
to be thrown thus on the mercy of the world! 
Don’t you think, Signor Contino, that I have been 
treated ” 

‘^I’m obeying orders, not thinking, Graglia, 
so better drop that subject; it’s wiser!” Guido 
interrupted him even more curtly. Then in a 
milder voice he added: Let’s be off.” 

There was no misunderstanding the officer’s 
peremptory directions, so Graglia bundled his 
wife rather unceremoniously into the trap, and 
clambered up after her. The horse, a seasoned 
animal, soberly walked along, and Guido had 
no difficulty in keeping on by the side, while from 
under the raised hood of the vehicle the fattore 
peered out suspiciously, his whip ready to start 
his horse at a gallop if anything threatening hove 
in sight. But there was not a soul in the street, 
and the strange silence of the twilight hour, during 
which it was usually crowded by gossiping groups 
who sat on their respective doorsteps discussing 
their evening meal, was almost uncanny. The 
Bishop was right, Guido thought, and Graglia 
seemed rather disappointed, for the sly fox well 
knew how much he could have banked upon the 
cries of a hooting crowd with a few stones flying. 


The Meeting at Taino Castle 137 

Out of the village they stopped a moment to 
lower the hood, as the signora complained of the 
stifling closeness. Guido touched his cap, and 
retraced his steps, while the trap disappeared in 
a cloud of dust. 

When the young man got back to the Gastello 
it was almost dark, and he found his uncle and 
Don Paolino engaged in what appeared to be an 
animated discussion, in which the former did not 
seem to have the best, as was generally the case. 
The fact was that Monsignore was almost ex- 
hausted by the drive in the hot sun, the excitement 
of the day, and his neglect to take any food since 
early that morning. He leaned wearily back in 
a stiff arm-chair, looking wan and pale, with broad 
purple rings under his eyes, from which all ani- 
mation and brilliancy had vanished, and sub- 
mitted almost passively to the tide of reproach 
and advice which flowed from the lips of Don 
Paolino. The good secretary was now having 
his innings, and was making up for the silence 
to which he had been condemned for so long. 
Guido’s entrance cut him short in the middle of a 
sentence, and, anticipating their questions, the 
young man replied at once: 

“The peasants might all be dead or gone away; 
not a cat in sight, not a sound, not a breath! I 


138 Monsignor Villarosa 

fancy that Graglia was rather sick about it, for 
he looked as if pining for a moderate dose of 
martyrdom.” Then, struck by his uncle’s ap- 
pearance, he continued, with deep concern in his 
tone: Uncle, you look tired and worn out, and 
I bet that Don Paolino, instead of thinking of 
your supper and rest, has been arguing with you, 
according to his habit ! ” 

Villarosa struggled a little straighter in his 
chair, and, disclaiming all fatigue, launched into 
a review of all that had happened; but Guido 
would not allow him to utter another word. He 
hustled the secretary out of the room, and accom- 
panied him on a foraging expedition, which had 
excellent results, so that in less than half an hour 
later the three were discussing a toothsome though 
improvised meal and a bottle of the celebrated 
Corgeno vintage, of which, despite his protests, 
the Bishop was forced by his nephew’s insistence 
to drink his share. 

The rest, the good food, and the generous wine 
had their usual effect: Villarosa, whose nervous 
temperament responded instantly to the treat- 
ment, regained all his energy and presence of 
mind. Rapidly and effectively he informed Guido 
of all that had happened, more than pnce cutting 
short the tendencious remarks that Don Paolino 


The Meeting at Taino Castle 139 

attempted to smuggle into the narrative. The 
officer, upon the whole, approved of all Mon- 
signore had said and done ; he expressed his 
opinion of Don Felice’s attack and of Graglia’s 
peccadilloes and duplicity in terms more military 
than choice, although, in the fattore's case, he 
reserved most of his forcible expressions for “that 
contemptible hound Meravigli” and “that weak 
ass Longhi.” 

“But,” Guido concluded, “after making all due 
allowances for their many grievances, I must con- 
fess that I have a strong feeling that the peasants 
are crowing over us; they have had the best of 
us in every respect, and are certainly not going 
to rest contented with what they have obtained. 
We, and those who think as we do, will probably 
give in again and again ; the rest, willy-nilly, must 
follow, so one fine day we will find ourselves con- 
fronted by the awful dilemma either of making 
a present of our lands to the peasants or of shoot- 
ing them down mercilessly by the thousand ! 
And if the advice of such black-faced rascals as 
Ranzi and Meravigli were to prevail right now, 
the country would be steeped in blood to-morrow! ” 

“That’s Gospel truth, and no mistake!” fer- 
vently cried Don Paolino, “although I cannot 
persuade his Excellency. Give once the peasants 


140 Monsignor Villarosa 

the paring of your nail and they’ll take the arm 
and the rest of the body, too, if they can! A good 
sound thrashing would bring them back to their 
right senses, and the sooner they get it the better! 
Here, for instance, the carabinieri ought to put 
the bracelets on that old fox Centeu, and take him 
and his precious committee to jail!” 

“Including your brother Peppino, is it not so?” 
Villarosa interrupted, with the nearest approach 
to a sneer that he was capable of. Then with 
one of his lightning changes of mood he burst 
forth: “Woe unto you who call yourselves pro- 
fessing Christians, who deny Christ every day of 
your lives, and place your material interests, your 
selfish motives, your greed of pelf far above the 
covenant you made with your Master to work, 
aye, to suffer if needs be for the triumph of truth 
and justice and the blessed brotherhood of man- 
kind! In your blind terror of losing something 
which has come to you through violence and 
oppression you would make our streams run red 
with blood, and fill the poor homes around us with 
widows and orphans! Shame, shame upon you! 
. . . And, moreover, you lie to your own selves 
and conjure up imaginary dangers so as to justify 
in your own eyes the ruthless cruelty of your 
repression! . . . And even, admitting for one 


The Meeting at Taino Castle 141 

moment that which I most strenuously deny, if the 
peasants one day became the masters of the soil 
through adjustments evolved by wise and prudent 
men, would it not be but justice, but the restitu- 
tion of the wrongly extorted, but the fulfilment 
of Christ's promise to the down-trodden, the poor, 
and the humble?” 

Monsignore had risen to his feet, carried away 
by the intensity of his conviction that he had been 
chosen to redress these wrongs, and by that ardent 
flame of passionate self-sacrifice which formed the 
groundwork of his personality. The hanging 
lamp threw a halo around his silver locks, and his 
handsome face stood out in bold relief upon the 
dark wainscoting of the room, so spiritualised, 
so exquisitely serene that Guido and Don Paolino 
both felt small and mean and pitiful, although 
they could not admit their point of view to be 
erroneous. And, on the other hand, this impres- 
sion had a far-reaching consequence; it prevented 
Guido from disclosing the secret nearest to his 
heart, his engagement to Donna Delia Leoni. To 
be quite candid, it would have been at all times 
a difficult topic to approach, but how much more 
so with some one who seemed so far aloof from 
the passions of our poor earth! This unusual 
£t of cowardice made the boy jump with eagerness 


142 Monsignor Villarosa 

at the very plausible excuse that “Ziggio*’ was 
too much worried, preoccupied, and tired out to 
be tormented with his own private affairs. So, 
fatally, he put off his confession to a future occa- 
sion, little imagining the consequences of this act. 

A little later Guido and Don Paolino prevailed 
upon Monsignore that he should retire. The 
other two sat up a while smoking a last cigar, but 
notwithstanding the secretary's efforts to make 
the officer take further interest in the questions 
of the day, he was inclined to muse and be silent. 
It was, however, arranged between them that Don 
Paolino should keep the young officer minutely 
informed of all that would happen, especially at 
Taino. Next morning, as Guido had before him 
a three-mile walk to the nearest station, he went 
very early to his uncle’s room and bade him good- 
bye while the old gentleman was still busy with 
his toilet; again there was neither the time nor 
the opportunity of revealing his love, foir Mon- 
signore was much too absorbed in the thought of 
the coming ordeal and too intent girding his loins 
for the impending fight to notice the embarrassed 
demeanor and melancholy pallor of his beloved 
nephew. 

Villarosa dressed with more than his usual care, 
donning his broadest violet sash with heavy gold 


The Meeting at Taino Castle 143 

tassels, and as he placed his violet mozzetta upon 
his rippling silver curls and took up his tricornOj 
trimmed with gold and violet cord, Don Paolino 
knocked at his door and was admitted at once. 
The good secretary had persisted in hoping against 
hope that Monsignore would decide at the last 
moment not to go to Taino, but when he caught 
sight of him, arrayed as for the most solemn occa- 
sions, his heart sank, and it was with the most 
woe-begone expression that he bade a dolorous- 
toned ^‘Good-moming” to his master. The old 
gentleman, on the contrary, was in the highest 
of spirits; he scented powder, and the mere pro- 
spect of a possible battle was the best tonic that 
he could have taken. His “Villarosa temper’’ 
was thoroughly aroused, and the night which had 
intervened between his decision and its fulfilment, 
instead of toning down his just resentment, had 
intensified it because of the unavoidable restraint. 

“What a glorious morning for our drive, Pao- 
lino!” the Bishop exclaimed in his cheeriest tones, 
but with a clarion-like distinctness which sent 
cold shivers down the secretary’s back, for he 
well knew what they meant. “You have, no 
doubt, given the necessary orders to Giovanni, 
and the carriage will be round in a few minutes; 
we have a good two hours’ journey before us, and 


144 Monsignor Villarosa 

as the meeting is convened for eleven, it will be 
none too early to start at half-past eight.’’ 

‘‘But . . . your Excellency never gave me any 
orders about the carriage last night!” Don Pao- 
lino equivocated with the desperation of a drown- 
ing man catching at a straw; “and I think that 
Giovanni must have gone to Varano to have one 
of the horses shod, as it seems it nearly cast a 
shoe yesterday. It will take at least a couple of 
hours ... so, of course, it’s out of the question 
to arrive at Taino in time . . . and ” 

The secretary, rather surprised at Monsignore’s 
silence, lifted his eyes, which, till then, he had 
kept studiously fixed on the floor. Monsignore 
was no longer there. In a bound Don Paolino 
was at the French window, opening on to the 
garden, just in time to see Monsignore striding 
vigorously towards the stables ; he heard him 
calling for the coachman in a voice which rang 
all over the place. Terrified and humiliated, 
Don Paolino rushed after his master, to And him 
roundly berating Giovanni for a laggard and 
hustling him in a fashion which nearly drove that 
majestic personage to frenzy. When Villarosa 
saw Paolino he turned upon him, to the great 
relief of the coachman, but he checked at once 
the burning reproof that came to his lips. In 


The Meeting at Taino Castle 145 

Spite of all he would never condescend to scold 
his faithful secretary before servants, so he simply 
said, ^‘Breakfast is ready, Don Paolino,’’ fixing 
him, however, with such fiaming eyes that the 
poor man groaned audibly and mopped the 
heavy beads of perspiration which burst out on 
his forehead. 

The ensuing meal was, as Don Paolino later 
confessed to Dr. Sandri, one of the worst moments 
of agony he had experienced in his whole life; 
Monsignore sat bolt upright in his chair, looking 
sternly in front of him and beyond his secretary, 
as if through him, studiously ignoring his pres- 
ence. But the twitching of those sensitive lips, 
the sudden flushes of color that came and went 
over his cheeks, told of the tempest raging in him. 
Then, as suddenly, the storm dissipated, a ma- 
licious smile began to form at the humorous comers 
of his mouth, and soon spread, as in ripples, over 
his countenance. 

Giovanni said: *Don Paolino would have had 
me ride to Varano to shoe the mare, as if I did 
not know my business and had not looked after 
everything before leaving Casbenno.^ Mon- 
signore, with elaborate impersonality, had ad- 
dressed this quotation to nobody in particular, 
but now he fixed his victim straight in the eyes 

JO 


146 Monsignor Villarosa 

and went on in a tone of pitying sweetness which 
cut him to the quick: '‘Missed again this time, 
Paolino, have you not? Although sufficiently 
clever, your little game collapsed, and do you 
know why? Because, notwithstanding your pain- 
staking efforts, you have not yet learned how to 
lie intelligently, and your plots are basted with 
white thread! Yet, if you work hard at your 
friend Graglia's school, you might achieve some 
success, but never with me; remember, never 
with me!’^ 

Paolino, who could no longer endure the subtle 
torture, tried to expostulate in his own defence, 
but Monsignore forestalled him before he could 
open his mouth, and thundered forth in a flash 
of the genuine old “Villarosa temper”: “Silence! 
Silence, I say! Nothing can extenuate this scurvy 
breach of trust, this pitiful prevarication! You 
wished to deceive your earthly master, and, worse 
still, to prevent him from accomplishing the duty 
he owes to his and your Divine Master! Fie, 
fie, unworthy priest, unworthy friend!” 

This was more than flesh and blood could 
stand. Don Paolino rose vehemently to his feet, 
upsetting the heavy chair, and in a botmd threw 
himself upon his knees, desperately clamoring: 
“Peccavi! peccavi! Pardon me, father, because 


The Meeting at Taino Castle 147 

I have sinned!*’ while big tears rolled down his 
ugly face. For a second Villarosa looked at his 
old friend with the same stem expression, then 
he reached out the fine, aristocratic hand, upon 
which the great amethyst blazed in its diamond 
setting, and rested it upon the wiry mop of hair 
by his side, with a motion, half-blessing and half- 
caress, and said: Absolve te, in nomine Patris 
et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.” Then in his 
customary affectionate manner he added: “That’s 
forgiven and forgotten, Paolino, my son; now run 
away, get me my violet mantle and your tricornOy 
for I hear the carriage at the front steps, and 
there’s not a minute to lose if we are to be on 
time.” 

Paolino, still tearful and very much extin- 
guished, obeyed with an alacrity which testified 
in favor of his repentance, so that in a trice they 
drove away at an unusually smart trot, an evident 
proof that Giovanni, smarting under the Bishop’s 
imdeserved reproof, was taking it out upon his 
horses. 

The long drive through the lovely hills separat- 
ing the small lakes of Varesotto from Lake Mag- 
giore only intensified, if possible, the Bishop’s 
resolve to strike a powerful blow for the peasants’ 
cause. By some mysterious agency news spread 


148 Monsignor Villarosa 

from village to village with lightning rapidity, 
and the astounding dismissal of Graglia, together 
with a verbatim report of Monsignor Villarosa’s 
words to the Corgeno delegation, had been cir- 
culated even faster than usual. This became 
at once apparent; a couple of miles from Corgeno 
the road crosses Varano, where the strike origi- 
nated. The entire population of this large village 
seemed to have congregated in the one street, 
so that the Bishop’s landau had to pass at a walk 
through two lines of men and women, three or 
four deep, who vociferously cheered Monsignore. 
With a smiling face, feeling elated and triumphant, 
Villarosa blessed repeatedly the crowd, right and 
left, whispering to Paolino in the meanwhile: 
^‘See now their gratitude for nothing, and dare 
speak again of them as you did!” This same en- 
thusiastic reception was awaiting them in every 
one of the villages through which they passed, 
and Don Paolino saw very plainly that anything 
he could say would be disregarded and laughed to 
scorn, and considered by Monsignore as an act 
of treason, so he was silent most of the way, 
confining himself, when addressed, to the utterest 
commonplace. 

But as they came nearer to Taino no such re- 
ception was at hand. In Taino itself silence 


The Meeting at Taino Castle 149 

reigned, and only a few frightened stragglers were 
seen, who scuttled away like rabbits at the sight 
of a carriage. The stately old Castle of the Longhi 
family stands on a bold cliff jutting out on Lake 
Maggiore, half a mile beyond the village, and is 
surrounded by a large park, enclosed by very 
high walls. At the principal gate, by the lodge, 
four carabinieri y in marching kit, stood conferring 
with an oldish man in plain clothes, obviously a 
detective in mufti. The gate was closed, so the 
landau had to stop while the lodgekeeper came 
to reconnoitre; the sight of Monsignore, sitting 
bolt upright in the carriage, must have been a 
shock to the fellow, who evidently had received 
minute instructions, but none, of course, concern- 
ing his Excellency the Bishop of the diocese. So, 
with the deepest of bows and cap in hand, he 
threw open the massive gates, and as the carriage 
drove on the lodgekeeper pensively scratched his 
head and then touched an electric button three 
times, this being the preconcerted signal for any 
important personage not included in the list given 
to him. 

In the sumptuous library of the Castle about 
thirty men were assembled, some sitting round 
the huge central table, some lounging in luxurious 
arm-chairs, and others, again, standing in small 


150 Monsignor Villarosa 

groups by the broad windows opening on the large 
terrace, the Castle’s main entrance. Nearly all 
were smoking, and the Marchese Longhi was kept 
extremely busy entertaining his many guests. A 
small, wiry, catlike man, well into the fifties, 
followed him, almost step by step, as if in fear 
that he would try to escape; he had a very dark 
skin and beady-black eyes, which contrasted most 
strikingly with the blonde hair, giant stature, 
and ruddy, open countenance of his host. 

This small man was Conte Cesare Meravigli, 
one of the wealthiest and most influential men 
of the province, and highly favored by the so- 
called “Liberal” Ministry, then at the head of 
the Government of Italy, notwithstanding his ir- 
reducible and tmcompromising black Clericalism. 
He was said to be the unofficial representative 
of the Vatican in Lombardy and, undoubtedly, 
the head of the Zelanti. Of course, he was the 
prime mover of the present meeting, and from 
the very inception of the peasants’ agitation had 
openly declared that he favored the most merci- 
less policy of repression, violently denouncing the 
position taken by the younger clergy, headed by 
Don Da vide Capelletti, and, more than anything 
else, the attitude of Monsignor Villarosa. Between 
the Bishop and himself there was, notoriously, 


The Meeting at Taino Castle 151 

and never had been, any love lost; but Villarosa 
did not know how to hate, and the candor of his 
guileless soul precluded the devious tactics in 
which Meravigli was a past master, so that in the 
event of an open warfare between the two all the 
advantages would have been with the latter. 
However, up to the present moment no active 
hostilities had taken place between them, and at 
their unfrequent meetings the layman treated 
the Bishop with a deference and consideration 
so exaggeratedly profound as to appear almost 
fulsome. 

Can’t you stop their useless chatter, Longhi, 
and have our business over?” Meravigli asked 
for the twentieth time at least in that grating 
voice of his which had won for him the deserved 
nickname of Vinegar.” ^‘1 must drive back as 
fast as I can to Varese and see that the Sotto- 
Prefetto keeps his word and sends troops to 
Castiglione ” 

Just at that instant a loud gong sounded three 
times in rapid succession, and both men started 
in surprise. ^‘What the devil can that be?” 
Longhi exclaimed. “Gigi has the severest orders, 
those, in fact, you gave, and three bells can only 
mean that either one of our deputies or the Pre- 
fect of Milan himself has run down to be present ! ” 


152 Monsignor Villarosa 

“Not they, man, not they! They all fear com- 
promising themselves too much in these moments I” 
Meravigli exclaimed as he peered out of the open 
window and caught sight of the approaching 
landau. He recognised at once the Villarosa 
liveries, and rapped out an oath not much in 
keeping with his sanctimonious habits: “That 
damned cur Graglia must have turned traitor!*' 

As to Marchese Longhi, he had been “knocked 
silly,’’ as he confessed later; but the jolly good 
fellow liked and respected the “old gentleman,” 
and had feebly tried to prevent the trick of send- 
ing the invitation to the Jattore instead of the 
master, so he rushed out to meet the unexpected 
guest, not without an anxious misgiving about 
what was going to happen. He arrived just in 
time to open the carriage door himself and help 
Monsignore out; even the obtuse and dull-witted 
sportsman, who had not the ghost of a thought 
beyond his stud and his kennel, was struck by the 
majestic appearance of the Bishop. At that 
moment he was truly the aristocrat of aristocrats, 
unmistakably the grand-seigneur by right of birth 
and by right of position, while his silvery curls, 
escaping from under the violet mozzetta as he cour- 
teously removed his tricorno, aureoled his hand- 
some face and invested it with a supreme dignity. 


The Meeting at Taino Castle 153 

The first act of Monsignore was typical in the 
extreme. He held out his right hand to his host, 
keeping it level with his shoulder, so that the 
great episcopal ring was presented in a manner 
that could not be denied. Longhi, awed and 
subdued, bent one knee almost to the ground, 
and humbly kissed the ring. Then, victoriously, 
Villarosa smiled and familiarly patted the big 
fellow on the shoulder, for, of course, he had 
known him, as well as the rest of the men as- 
sembled there, from their babyhood, saying: 
^‘Rather surprised to see me, Carluccio, my son? 
You see, I had to be in Corgeno myself, and having 
found there the invitation to this meeting, I 
came in the place of Graglia, who had been sum- 
moned, but could not come, as I happened to 
dismiss him from my service and pension him off 
last evening!” 

These words were uttered in the clearest tones 
of Monsignore’s far-carrying voice, and purposely 
so, for he had caught sight of Meravigli and the 
rest of them crowding the broad entrance of the 
library. With stately step and haughty mien he 
walked in, followed by Longhi and by Don Pao- 
lino, who, poor fellow! shuffled along more awk- 
wardly than ever. All the men present, with 
Meravigli at their head, bowed deeply, and Villa- 


154 Monsignor Villarosa 

rosa responded by a brief inclination of his head; 
then for a moment there was a tense, breathless 
silence. Meravigli interrupted it. “If your 
Excellency pleases, I will call this meeting to 
order!’' Then without awaiting a reply, he 
raised his hand, and, as by a preconcerted arrange- 
ment, the men sat around the table, leaving the 
one arm-chair, prepared for the president, free. 
To this Longhi ceremoniously escorted the Bishop, 
so that he found himself placed between Meravigli 
and his host. Then, without more ado, the latter 
drew some written sheets from his pocket and 
rapidly read out what purported to be an expose 
of the agrarian situation. The venom, the fury, 
and, at the same time, the ill-concealed terror of 
the writer were evident in every line; the few 
considerations which might have appealed to 
impartial and thoughtful minds were overwhelmed 
by the foulest imputations, obviously mendacious, 
heaped upon the peasants, with the clear purpose 
of frightening the authorities into wholesale and 
merciless repression. At the close a set of reso- 
lutions were offered, openly invoking this repres- 
sion, together with a sort of pact binding the 
signers not to grant any concessions without the 
approval of the others, and to put in being any 
new disciplinary regulations which might be 


The Meeting at Taino Castle 155 

ordered by the committee to be named that 
day. 

Except for not too frequent and far from unani- 
mous murmurs of approbation, the reading came 
unchallenged to the end. Then Villarosa, who 
had become as pale as a sheet, with a great ver- 
tical vein pulsating in his forehead, rose as if 
moved by an irresistible force, and in a voice 
which sounded curiously muffled asked for leave 
to address the meeting on the report before them, 
and Meravigli had to bow affirmatively. Im- 
promptu as it was, seldom had a more telling 
defence of the peasants and of their grievances 
and aspirations been delivered. To a few of 
those present it came as a startling revelation, 
as a disclosiure of unrecognised truths which had 
stared them in the face for years, and which they 
had allowed to pass by them unnoticed, ignoring 
the formidable significance of their meaning. To 
others, the great majority, in whom the habits of 
landlordism had become so ingrained as to ob- 
literate the faculty of appreciating any other but 
the traditional standards, it was naught else but 
arrant nonsense clothed in eloquent words, and 
the ^‘good Bishop’s tirade” was the consequence 
of his nebulous and unpractical conception of 
life. To the remaining few men of Meravigli ’s 


156 Monsignor Villarosa 

stamp it was an insult and an outrage, the shame- 
less proclamation of an apostate and a traitor, 
who, for the sake of popularity and notoriety, 
had thrown overboard the allegiance he owed to 
his class. 

But of Meravigli’s elaborate report nothing 
remained ; Villarosa’s implacable dialectic had 
torn it to shreds, and its author writhed with 
impotent rage under the subtle lash of its pungent 
though refined irony. However, while this fanned 
overpoweringly the flame of his hatred, it did not 
blind Meravigli to the fact that the Bishop’s 
eloquence was doomed to be devoid of any results. 
He knew that not one of the landlords present 
would refuse to sign the pact on account of the 
speech just delivered ; the bonds holding the land- 
lords together were much too powerful to be 
broken. So when Villarosa closed his address, 
kept by him most rigorously within the strict 
limits of the material interests, there was a sort 
of awed hush, followed by a low murmur, and 
Meravigli rose to state that, as no one else had 
asked to speak, he would declare the report ap- 
proved, and proceed to the signing of the resolu- 
tions and pact. 

Quick as thought Villarosa was again on his 
feet. 'H, gentlemen, for one, not only refuse to 


The Meeting at Taino Castle 157 

approve Conte Meravigli’s report as groundless 
and misleading, not only refuse to sign any pact 
based on repression and wanton cruelty, but 
demand that my written and signed protest be 
appended to the so-called resolutions and pact!’* 
The Bishop took a pen and wrote a few lines, 
which he read in a voice now thrilling as a clarion- 
cry: “I, the undersigned, as a Christian, as a 
Bishop, as a gentleman, solemnly protest against 
and denounce the utter baselessness, the blind 
partisanship, and the pitiless cruelty which inspire 
the resolutions and pact here above set forth, and 
refuse hereby to sully my name by appending it 
to the aforesaid.” Then, unheeding the clenched 
fists and blind fiury depicted in Meravigli’s dis- 
torted face, he thundered in a voice which rang 
again in the vaulted hall: “Deceit heralded this 
assembly, misrepresentation dictates its decision, 
blood and hate will be its results! May the 
consequences fall upon the heads of the guilty, 
sparing the innocent, and the Almighty have 
mercy upon us all!” Then, turning to Longhi, 
whose pallid face told of his intense dismay, he 
curtly added: “My carriage, Marchese!” 

No one moved; the silence was almost tragic 
in its intensity as Meravigli, incapable of any 
further restraint, hissed: “True to your past. 


158 Monsignor Villarosa 

Bishop, to your past . . . not forgotten nor 
forgiven. ... I swear 

But Monsignore took no notice of the speaker; 
with head erect, eyes flashing, his great violet 
mantle flowing around him, he slowly walked to 
the terrace with so superb a dignity that nearly 
all, in spite of themselves, rose and bowed pro- 
foundly as he disappeared. 

A minute later the carriage was heard to drive 
away, and then pandemonium broke loose in the 
library of Taino Castle. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE LETTER MARKED “ PRIVATE 

Monsignore’s return to Casbenno by a way 
which cut off the long detour through Corgeno, 
was extraordinarily silent and dreary. The broad 
provincial road had all the unpicturesque devotion 
to straight lines of Government engineering, and 
for the most part left the villages, right and left, 
perched upon hilltops or nestling in sheltered 
glens, so no more enthusiastic receptions were in 
store for the Bishop. But, half-way back, the 
village of La Cascinetta, the parish of Don Felice 
Ranzi and now the home of the Graglias, had 
grown from a few houses to a rather important 
locality on both sides of the road. Evidently 
some one working in the fields had spied the 
Villarosa carriage, and had raced home to report 
the event, so that when Monsignore drove through 
he was greeted with frantic hurrahs by the entire 
population, who stopped the carriage while the 
Bishop rose and solemnly imparted his blessing. 
159 


i6o Monsignor Villarosa 

When they started again he turned to Don Paolino, 
who, ever since they had left Taino, sat hunched 
up in his corner, the picture of anguished and 
puzzled collapse, and with a return to that delight- 
ful humor which he seemed to have lost for the 
last forty-eight hours, he said: “Don Felice will 
be pleased, eh, Paolino? What a pity that our 
friend Conte Meravigli cannot hear them ! Then 
as he could not elicit even a grunt from his secre- 
tary, he grabbed him by the arm and administered 
a good-natiured little shake. “Wake up, man, 
and for goodness’ sake don’t look as if you had 
fallen from a church steeple on your head! If a 
little preliminary bout like this puts you in such 
a dilapidated condition, how will you fulfil the 
onerous duties of your position during the impend- 
ing battles?” and the old gentleman laughed 
heartily at his own ironic conceit. 

Don Paolino heaved a huge sigh, portentously 
shook his head, then throwing up his arms to 
heaven, as if calling it to witness, he broke forth: 
“Am I dead or alive? Or have I been dreaming 
the most frightful nightmare of my whole life? 
What is going to happen next? Shall I ever forget 
your Excellency’s face, or the sound of your 
voice, or the gentlemen’s looks, or the expression 
of Vinegar’s — I mean Conte Meravigli’s — black 


The Letter Marked “Private” i6i 


eyes? It was terrible . . . terrible. . . . Master, 
master, what have you done? Made a set of 
omnipotent enemies, who will ruin you some day 
in the opinion of — over there.” And as usual 
he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, for him 
ever the direction of the fearsome Vatican. 

Monsignore turned right round in his place, 
crossed his arms, and looking Don Paolino squarely 
in the eyes, replied: “Once and for all, my son, 
remember that when Guido Villarosa has made 
up his mind as to what is his duty, he is not going 
to be wheedled or threatened into deviating from 
it. I am perfectly aware that to-day I have made 
at least one powerful enemy; I shall probably 
make many others in the course of this fight. I 
know that these enemies will do all in their power 
to ruin me in the opinion of his Holiness, or in 
that of those for whom I am fighting, or in that 
of both, but I know still better that they will 
never prevail. Neither his Holiness nor the 
peasants will ever listen to the venomous false- 
hoods whispered in their ears ; the Pope is too wise, 
all-seeing, and noble; the peasants too loyal, 
devoted, and shrewd. With those two on my 
side I fear nothing, and am certain of the final 
victory, which is, let me tell you, the victory of 
right over wrong! So, my son, cheer up!” 


II 


i 62 Monsignor Villarosa 

Monsignore had spoken in an even, almost 
colorless, tone, so conspicuously lacking that 
innocent histrionism which rendered extremely 
picturesque all the good Bishop said, and, perhaps 
because of this, it sank deep into Don Paolino’s 
consciousness. That faithful secretary under- 
stood that henceforth it would be impossible for 
him to protect his beloved master from the rough 
and cruel handling of the world, but howbeit he 
vowed in his heart never to relinquish his post and 
play watch-dog more strenuously than ever. In 
spite of this new-born conviction, he, however, 
blurted out : 

“A poor priest, a peasant's son, cannot know 
his Holiness the Pope as your Excellency; but a 
peasant’s son knows the peasants more than your 
Excellency. The peasants are shrewd enough, 
and no mistake, but loyal and devoted? Pah! 
they haven’t an ounce of loyalty or devotion in 
their make-up, and certainly none for a padrone, 
even though he be you, who are going to sacrifice 
everything in their behalf. At the first occasion 
see how they will turn back upon you and yell 
‘Morte a Villarosa!’ just as lustily as they howled 
*Viva Villarosa!’ and this sooner, may be, than 
we think!” 

The Bishop sat back very wearily in his corner, 


The Letter Marked “Private’' 163 


a wan little smile upon his lips, but did not reply. 
Perhaps he thought it wasted breath to argue the 
point with Paolino, perhaps he felt exhausted by 
the long drive, the strain, and the excitement. 
Silence reigned, and after a while Monsignore fell 
into a fitful slumber. Paolino, though watching 
him narrowly, tenderly awoke him when the 
carriage slowed up to turn in at the gates of Cas- 
benno, and exclaimed fervently, “Home at last, 
thank Heaven!” 

This homecoming, however, was by no means 
a cheerful affair, and it appeared as if Don Paolino 
had been a little too hasty in expressing his grati- 
tude for the boon accorded; Monsignore looked 
ill and frightfully tired, and Guido’s departure 
had cast a gloom upon the entire household. An 
informal repast, neither lunch nor dinner, had 
been prepared, and by dint of nagging the secre- 
tary prevailed upon Villarosa to take some nourish- 
ment. Immediately after the Bishop insisted 
upon going to the study, as there must be a two 
days’ mail to be examined. 

They found the letters neatly piled upon the 
great desk, and Don Paolino in his lazy monotone 
began to drawl out the contents of the first, some 
long, wearisome, and unimportant document 
pertaining to the administration of the episcopal 


i 64 Monsignor Villarosa 

see. The faithful fellow, seeing that Monsignore 
was giving obvious signs of a disposition to sink 
into a peaceful slumber, exaggerated the somni- 
ferous inflexion of his voice to overcome any 
dutiful resistance to laziness. But the second 
letter set Paolino^s hopes to naught: Villarosa’s 
publisher informed him that the first proofs of the 
book would be sent to him the following week, 
adding that the work had been fotmd of such deep 
and striking importance that it had been decided 
to rush its publication as fast as possible. An 
undercurrent of deep surprise, which escaped the 
none too subtle Paolino, ran through the letter, 
and dehcately tickled the Bishop’s vanity as he 
knew the writer to be a most competent critic 
and well known for his strictly rationalistic prin- 
ciples. The secretary, poor fellow, saw only one 
thing, namely, that this book, which he hated on 
account of its possible consequences for Mon- 
signore, was to appear in the near future, thus 
shattering any wild hopes that something might 
providentially happen to suspend its publication 
altogether. 

The third letter, again a bulky document from 
some Prevosto, could no longer tempt Monsignore 
to peaceful slumber. He waved it aside impa- 
tiently, directing Paolino to reply to it as needed, 


The Letter Marked “Private’’ 165 


and declared that he must go on with his work of 
revising the second volume, neglected for two 
days. As this did not suit at all the secretary’s 
views, he foraged among the remaining mail in 
hopes that something might be found to divert 
Monsignore’s trend of thought. Amidst the 
official-looking envelopes a small one, seemingly 
in a woman’s hand, and conspicuously marked 
“Private,” appeared to be the required bait, so 
Paolino officiously handed it to Villarosa, gravely 
remarking, “Your Excellency must certainly at- 
tend to this one personally ... a ‘private’ 
letter . . . may be important,” and with a flourish 
of his great fist he sat down in expectation. 

Monsignore impatiently shrugged his shoulders, 
but, complying, caught the few lines it contained 
at a glance. Paolino saw the handsome face 
turn ghastly pale, then blaze up crimson, while 
the eyes flashed in an indescribable ftuy, so that 
he stood gazing upon him dumbfounded and as 
paralysed. Villarosa saw the mute interrogation 
depicted upon his secretary’s countenance, and 
throwing him savagely the offending letter, thun- 
dered, “Read it, by God!” so that the peaceful 
room echoed strangely with the unusual words. 

The letter was undated and unsigned, and ran 
as follows : 


i66 Monsignor Villarosa 

“ Old Guido was a freebooter and an enemy of 
the Church in his youth, and so killed his mother : 
as a Bishop, he of course ignores the pranks of 
young Guido, the petted angel, with a divorced 
woman, which scandalise the whole diocese.” 

Paolino saw that he had diverted the Bishop’s 
thoughts with a vengeance, and could have kicked 
himself for a thoughtless fool. But the damage 
was irretrievably done, and now he could but try 
to mitigate the old gentleman’s ire. Paolino 
could neither understand nor appreciate the stand 
taken by Villarosa in any questions pertaining to 
sex morality. In spite of a constant intercourse 
with a man whose principles were of the purest 
and most rigid chastity, he was still what his 
heredity had made him, elemental and rather 
gross, so that, if by virtue of his peculiar tempera- 
ment he had been spared, as he frequently re- 
marked, the temptations of the flesh, yet he was 
quite ready to wink at the shortcomings of this 
category in priests, to say nothing of laymen. 
Young Guido’s escapade, as he termed it in his 
heart, was most comprehensible and excusable, 
and, anyhow, by no means calling for the fury 
depicted in every lineament of Monsignore’s face. 
So, after reading again the fatal letter, he shrugged 


The Letter Marked ^‘Private” 167 


his shoulders most eloquently and exclaimed in a 
good-natured, cheery tone: ^‘Boys will be boys, 
Monsignore, until Judgment Day, and women, 
of course, all go mad after our Guido; he’s so 
good-looking ” 

“Be silent!’' Villarosa thundered. “You are 
no judge in the matter! To think that Guido 
Calvello, my own sister’s son, the child I have 
raised with unremitting care and attention, should 
bring this dishonor upon me in my old age and 
so forget his duty as to become a public scandal, 
and render possible this infamous letter! To 
come here and, under my very eyes, conduct an 
intrigue with a shameless female! It is frightful 
. . . but ... it may be a lie, a low, cowardly, 
filthy lie, worthy of the writer of this abominable 
letter.” That thought seemed to afford him a 
great relief, and he clung to it furiously. “Yes, 
it is a lie ... a lie! I must immask the villains! 
I’ll do it at once . . . here . . . pen . . . paper! 
I’ll wire Guido to come here at once, and then 
let the fiends beware!” 

Without listening to Paolino, who, being world- 
wise, had concluded that there must be some fire 
to give out so much smoke, and would have pre- 
ferred to see Monsignore not quite so impetuous 
in summoning his nephew, the telegram was dis- 


i68 Monsignor Villarosa 

patched in so pressing a form that it was impos- 
sible to refuse Guido the short leave required. 
Thus the young officer could be at Casbenno by 
dinner-time, or, at the latest, in the evening, as it 
was then two in the afternoon. 

If Paolino that day had hoped for a quiet visit 
at the Roccolo or for a comfortable snooze, his 
dreams were blasted. Monsignore talked and 
fidgeted incessantly, reading and re-reading that 
awful letter a hundred times, as if that would 
help him to discover its author. Paolino pru- 
dently kept on attempting to modify the views of 
Monsignore about the gravity of the imputation, 
and to lead him little by little to the conclusion 
that, even if there had been a little flirtation,” 
there was no cause for such a serious excitement. 
But on this subject Villarosa was intractable. 
Immediately surmising that the divorced Woman” 
must be their neighbor of the Villa Meroni, the 
Bishop without ceasing denounced scathingly the 
infamous lie of the letter, and, with obvious 
inconsistency, the presence of so unholy a being 
in the immediate vicinity of his own home. 

The telegram calling Guido to Casbenno thor- 
oughly upset and nonplussed him. What on 
earth could have happened? It did not convey 
the idea of an accident or of a sudden illness, 


The Letter Marked Private’' 169 


neither that something untoward had occurred 
with the peasants, and his colonel, with whom he 
was a prime favorite, urged him to go, anyhow, 
at once. He managed thus to catch a much 
earlier train than could be expected, and during 
the brief journey he uselessly racked his brain for 
a solution, never dreaming that he was going to 
be confronted with the weightiest problem as yet 
of his whole life ; so when with his usual impetuos- 
ity he rushed into his uncle^s study, he was utterly 
off his guard, notwithstanding the warning ges- 
ticulations of Don PaoHno, cautiously stationed 
behind the old gentleman’s back. 

Villarosa’s greeting was markedly short and 
constrained. After thanking his nephew for the 
gratifying promptness with which he had obeyed 
his call. Monsignore’s face grew rigid and tense. 
Without warning of any sort, he read out aloud 
the anonymous letter, articulating each word 
with icy distinctness. To poor Guido it came as 
a bolt from the blue. Utterly annihilated for a 
second by the public disclosure of his love for 
Delia in this cowardly and distorted fashion, he 
could but curse in his heart his silence and the 
reasons which had apparently justified it, but no 
thought of prevarication ever touched him, and 
he did not flinch from the issue. Erect, in the 


170 Monsignor Villarosa 

attitude prescribed by military discipline, he 
faced squarely his uncle and quietly said: “It is 
a lie, uncle; I have simply asked Donna Delia 
Leoni to be my wife.” 

If Guido had been taken by surprise, it was 
nothing in comparison to the shock he inflicted 
upon Monsignore. The old gentleman, even when 
he reluctantly admitted to himself that there 
might be some vague truth in the slanderous 
falsehood, only supposed that there might have 
been some more or less innocuous love passages 
between his handsome nephew and this “bold 
and dangerous female,” as he had denounced his 
neighbor to Don Paolino. To be brought face 
to face by his own Guido with the appalling pos- 
sibility of an accursed and sacrilegious union took 
his breath away, as if he had suddenly witnessed 
the universe crumbling around him. Completely 
thrown off his balance, he committed a grievous 
mistake. His “Villarosa temper” mastered him, 
and no sooner had his breath and the possibility 
of speech returned to him than with withering 
contempt he flashed back: “Your wife? Your 
wife, sir? That sacred word is the privilege of 
pure women . . . not to be polluted by any loose 
female you fancy for the satisfaction of your filthy 
passions!” 


The Letter Marked “Private'' 17 1 


This atrocious insult, so undeservedly hurled 
upon Delia, whom Guido worshipped with a great, 
pure, reverent love, nearly crazed the young man. 
With clenched fists, as pale as death, he took a 
rapid and threatening step forward; but, with a 
tremendous effort over himself, he checked the 
awful explosion of fury ready to burst, irrespective 
of the person in front of him. Still trembling 
from the restraint imposed on his feelings, hoarsely 
he cried, ‘T would call any other man but you an 
infamous liar!” and turning upon his heel, he 
strode towards the door. Monsignore realised 
at once his fatal mistake. The sight of the boy’s 
unhesitating departure filled his heart with 
something akin to despair, and pride and 
love waged a fierce battle in the old prelate’s 
heart. 

Then Don Paolino interfered; he hurled himself 
blindly between Guido and the door, the coarse 
features of his ugly face working convulsively as 
in a fit, and sobbed out rather than said: “For 
the love of God and the Virgin, stop, Guido ! Stop 
. . . you will . . . you must listen to me ! Don’t 
rush off insanely and kill us all because of your 
mad rage! Stop . . . stop!” And as the young 
officer was about to push unceremoniously past 
him, Paolino turned to Monsignore in a wild 


\^2 Monsignor Villarosa 

flurry of helpless desperation, vociferating, ^‘Stop 
that crazy boy at all costs!” 

But the Bishop seemed turned to stone. Pale, 
stern, and defiant, he stood by the writing-desk 
in the same attitude as before. The only visible 
effect of this terrible scene was the uncontrollable 
tremor of his hands, which grasped tenaciously 
the edge of the table till the knuckles gleamed 
white; when this unfortunate pitch of his heredi- 
tary temper was reached, he would have gladly 
died rather than withdraw what he had said. 
Not a word, not a sign came to relieve that horrid 
tension; for Guido, in the matter of temperament, 
was the counterpart of his uncle, so for a moment 
their glances clinched and crossed as the flashing 
swords of two duellists; then the young officer 
elbowed past Don Paolino, as if the worthy priest 
had been an inconvenient piece of furniture, and 
stalked out of the room. The good secretary 
then found his presence of mind, or rather he 
imagined so. He rushed full speed after Guido, 
catching him just as he locked himself in his room 
to pack all that belonged to him before leaving 
for ever the home of the man who had out- 
rageously insulted all he loved and reverenced 
upon earth. 

With Don Paolino, however, Guido did not 


The Letter Marked '‘Private” 


173 


restrain himself any longer; his pent-up wrath 
vented itself in a perfect hurrricane of invective, 
so that the self-appointed peacemaker could not 
utter one word of the speech he had hurriedly 
prepared. And, what was still more distracting, 
even through the fierce flow of the young man’s 
denunciations many basic principles stood out 
boldly, which gave a tremendous jolt to all the 
time-worn dogmatic standards which the good 
priest had mechanically made his own from sheer 
force of habit and invincible reluctance to exercise 
his independent power of ratiocination. But, 
however deeply he was shocked, his native shrewd- 
ness saved him from committing the egregious 
mistake of showing his horrified amazement; in 
his heart Paolino believed that all Guido’s inten- 
sity of feeling was due exclusively to thwarted 
physical passion, this being for his elemental 
nature a very comprehensible and natural pheno- 
menon, so he simply endeavored to soothe “his 
boy,” almost as if he had yet been a little lad, 
with sympathising words and pats and meaning- 
less affirmatives and negations. He so far 
succeeded in his efforts that Guido’s flaming 
anger subsided at least in its outward demonstra- 
tions ; but poor Don Paolino was far from suspect- 
ing that notwithstanding, or rather because, he 


174 Monsignor Villarosa 

had reacquired control over himself, the young 
officer’s resolution of carrying out his plans, 
regardless of all obstacles, was becoming at every 
minute more firm and decided. 

When, as Don Paolino imagined, one of the two 
contestants had simmered down to a more malle- 
able frame of mind, he bustled out of Guido’s 
room and ran back to Monsignore’s study to exert 
his powers of persuasion upon the other belligerent. 
The secretary was fully prepared to utter impas- 
sibly the most unlimited white lies, as he did not 
doubt for a second that if ever the end justified 
the means, the actual one was just the case. As 
he re-entered the study, the view which met his 
eyes was by no means encouraging. Monsignore, 
huddled in his arm-chair, looked as if he had 
fallen there when his limbs had suddenly given 
way under him, but the fierce expression of his 
face had not softened in the slightest and was as 
haughty and defiant as before; it looked so in- 
flexible, in fact, that poor Don Paolino quaked in 
his shoes at the thought of bearding his master; 
but the conviction that he was working for the 
happiness of those he loved most on earth gave 
him unusual courage, and intrepidly he remon- 
strated with him for his undue severity to “that 
poor boy.” 


The Letter Marked “Private” 175 


Don Paolino expected a tremendous flare-up: 
none came, Monsignore not seeming even to be 
aware of his presence. This peculiar form of 
stupor was a very disquieting symptom to Don 
Paolino, who knew to perfection the frailness of 
Monsignore’s constitution, so, altering his tone to 
one of confidential earnestness, he launched into 
a highly colored description of the penitent 
frame of mind in which Guido had subsided, and 
urged his master to send him as a messenger of 
peace and goodwill, thus settling without delay 
this foolish and deplorable “misunderstanding.” 

At this Villarosa smiled in bitter contempt. 
“Let Guido come to me and unequivocally con- 
fess that he was crazy and never meant a word he 
said, and I might overlook the rest!” Monsignore 
declared with a voice as cutting and icy as a 
frozen blade, and the poor peacemaker had to be 
content with this very unsatisfactory result. 

Don Paolino trotted back to the young officer’s 
apartment, but, of course, did not repeat one word 
of the message. With a mighty effort of his 
imagination he depicted the Bishop’s softened 
feelings and the meeker decisions to which he was 
arriving, thanks to the weighty remonstrances 
which he, Don Paolino, had not feared to present. 
But when he warily hinted that it would be wise 


176 Monsignor Villarosa 

and proper for Guido to hold forth the olive- 
branch and personally offer the expression of his 
apology and regret, he was met with as frigid and 
trenchant a rejoinder as that of Villarosa himself. 

“If my uncle is willing to retract the abomi- 
nable and unwarranted insults he uttered against 
the lady who will be my wife,” Guido haughtily 
declared, “I will apologise for the words which 
might have escaped me in my just resentment; 
otherwise, as soon as I have finished my packing, 
I leave this house for ever.” And in spite of all 
poor Don Paolino said, he would not budge an 
inch from that decision. 

For the next hour unhappy Paolino ran breath- 
lessly and uselessly from the Bishop’s study to 
Guido’s rooms and back again, pleading, urging, 
advising, and accumulating the most bewildering 
lies with an extraordinary fertility of invention, 
but, in spite of all, the breach could not be healed 
and seemed to grow wider at each visit. Both 
uncle and nephew, each from his own personal 
point of view, were right, and, what was a diffi- 
culty still more insurmountable, right in their 
fundamental conceptions of life. Although edu- 
cated under strictly Roman Catholic principles 
and prejudices, yet the young lieutenant, with 
his open mind, had readily absorbed those broad 


The Letter Marked “Private” 177 


modem ideas now permeating all countries and 
classes, and, while he had never bothered much 
about their practical application to everyday life, 
it was only human that he should instantly adapt 
them to his own case, when his personal happi- 
ness hung in the balance. Monsignor Villarosa, 
on his side, while of a brilliancy of mind greatly 
superior to that of his nephew, had persistently 
kept aloof from these new ideas, partly because 
the manner of his life hedged him from any par- 
ticipation in the Zeitgeist of the twentieth century, 
and partly because, having bound himself impul- 
sively and unadvisedly in the fetters of his artificial 
vocation, he was possessed by an instinctive and 
almost morbid fear of being suddenly confronted 
with ideas which he might have enthusiastically 
espoused, but which, his intuition told him, must 
be in open and even violent opposition to the 
secular tenets of that same Church of which he 
was a minister. 

So the final catastrophe could not be delayed 
any longer. When, for the tenth time at least, 
Don Paolino returned to the study, he found Mon- 
signore standing by the window, paler, sterner, 
and more haggard than before. The words which, 
as a last forlorn hope, the good secretary was 
about to utter died upon his lips as the Bishop, 


Z3 . 


178 Monsignor Villarosa 

with a nervous force almost unthinkable in so 
frail a body, gripped his wrist and dragged him 
bodily to the window, whispering in a low, agonised 
murmur: “Look! look! he is gone!” while with 
a tremulous finger he pointed to the avenue. 

There was Guido rapidly striding away, head 
erect, a stony expression of defiance on his hand- 
some young face, and the two priests saw him, 
without a second’s hesitation or a backward glance, 
pass, as they thought, through the gate and out 
of their sight for ever. 

Then at last Monsignor Villarosa broke com- 
pletely down; he staggered back to his arm-chair, 
and falling into it, hid his face between his arms 
outstretched before him upon the desk, while his 
whole body shook with convulsive sobs. Don 
Paolino, wild with despair, threw himself on his 
knees by his side, and almost as tenderly as a 
woman endeavored to calm and console his 
master, but for a long while his most patient efforts 
seemed vain. At last, however, the cruel parox- 
ysm of grief apparently subsided, and Monsignore 
was able to control himself. Lifting his head, 
after an unsuccessful attempt or two he managed 
to speak. “It is . . . all over . . . now! Yes 
... I am strong again . . . leave me . . . 
Paolino. I ... I must be alone ... I wish 


The Letter Marked ‘‘Private’' 


179 


it!’’ And as the secretary demurred and seemed 
inclined to disobey this order, Villarosa insisted 
still more firmly: “Yes! . . . you must obey! 
I appreciate ... I know that you mean to do 
right, but this time you must obey me ... at 
once! Now ... go!” So, having no other 
choice, Don Paolino reluctantly arose and slowly 
left the room, growling between his teeth that, 
cost what may, he would some day find the authors 
of that accursed letter and make them bitterly 
rue their infamy. 

Guido, as he left his uncle’s home, was suffering 
perhaps quite as intensely as Monsignore, with 
the great difference, however, that he was not a 
little sustained and consoled by his deep love. 
It had grown, unwittingly perhaps, a thousand- 
fold stronger, if possible, by virtue of the violent 
opposition he had encountered and of the atro- 
cious and unwarranted insults which his uncle, 
of all men, had heaped upon his Delia’s head. He 
was carried away by a violent wave of resentment 
against Monsignore, and this overpowering pas- 
sion seemed to cancel absolutely from his heart 
all his reverence, and the profound gratitude and 
love which he had always nourished for him. 
This was what hurt the most, and if his state of 
mind had allowed him to examine his innermost 


i8o Monsignor Villarosa 

consciousness, he would have been surprised to 
find deep down that those same feelings formed 
almost an integral part of his personality. 

Without hesitating he turned into the gateway 
of the Villa Meroni and through the fast falling 
dusk he walked rapidly up the avenue leading to 
the house. Simoun, dozing upon the front steps, 
scented him at once and rushed to meet him, 
barking delightedly. 

These unexpected sounds reached at once Delia’s 
ears, and she guessed immediately that no other 
than Guido was coming to her. As, by a common, 
imspoken accord, he had never yet come to her 
house, her heart told her instantly that something 
exceptionally grave had happened, for Guido 
would not have otherwise returned only twenty- 
four hours after leaving Casbenno for the season. 
From her boudoir, on the groimd floor, she stepped 
out into the garden and came forward to meet him. 
The sight of his pale and determined face, the 
flame of overpowering rage and grief blazing in 
his habitually laughing eyes, only substantiated 
her worst fears. ^‘What has happened?” she 
asked in her calm, collected voice, which was one 
of the most striking traits of her strong and well- 
poised nature. 

Then Guido found himself confronted by a tre- 


The Letter Marked '‘Private” i8i 


mendous task. How could he repeat to her the 
infamous slanders which had been flung to his 
face? How could he confess that it was his own 
uncle who had not only endorsed them, but had 
added insult to injury by branding their contem- 
plated marriage as a blasphemous travesty? 
How could he admit that their purest and most 
cherished ideal had been scoffed at and denoimced 
in shameless vituperation? 

Once more his inborn straightforwardness 
pointed the right way out to him. He bent low 
his head to kiss Delia’s hand with even a greater 
reverence than ever before, as if to signalise his 
attitude and contrast it with that which the world 
might be taking; then in brief, scathing terms he 
related to her all that had taken place, not omit- 
ting a single particular and not sparing himself 
the bitterest reproaches for his culpable procras- 
tination when by speaking boldly he might have 
forestalled the disastrous effect of the fatal anony- 
mous letter. And he finished by declaring that 
he had severed every tie which botmd him to 
Monsignor Villarosa, whose unpardonable conduct 
had cancelled all the gratitude and affection which 
he, Guido, otherwise owed him. 

Delia listened to his story with the deepest 
attention, but not a twitch of pain nor a fiash of 


i 82 Monsignor Villarosa 

indignation marred the sweet dignity of her lovely 
face, though in her heart there must have throbbed 
with renewed intensity the dull agony of her past. 
When Guido closed his story a wan little smile 
crept round her strong mouth, and in her proud, 
hawk-like eyes, then in her usual composed 
manner she spoke: 

“My poor, poor boy. . . . Did I not warn you 
from the very^first day of what was bound to hap- 
pen? Did I not tell you that it was just this 
estrangement between your uncle and yourself 
that I feared? Did I not endeavor to point out 
what madness it was for you to imagine that all 
would run on smoothly and easily? Now that 
the blow has fallen, it would be useless and cruel 
to torment you with ‘ I-told-you-so’s ’ ! The blow 
is much more terrible for you than for me, as I 
was prepared for it and you were not. Be, then, 
wise while still in time. Abandon at once all hope 
of altering your uncle’s opinion. Renounce me 
. . . and I will leave Varese and even Italy, 
neither blaming you nor thinking less of you.” 

Guido’s face became tragic to behold. “Re- 
noimce you?” he questioned in a low, passionate 
voice. “I fail to understand you, Delia ... do 
you mean to say that you do no longer care for 
me because of what has happened? Do you 


The Letter Marked ‘‘Private’' 183 

refuse to be mine because of my uncle’s conduct?” 
All anger had disappeared from his eyes, where 
now only a mortal dismay could be seen. 

More than any impassioned confirmation of his 
love, this absolute lack of comprehension of her 
words, almost as if they had been uttered in a 
language tmknown to him, impressed Delia with 
the magnitude of her lover’s devotion. The idea 
that he was at liberty to break his troth could 
not penetrate into Guido’s mind, and this discovery 
brought a wonderful balm to her aching heart. 
Her face grew inexpressibly tender, in her proud 
eyes there suddenly came a softness such as Guido 
had never beheld there before, a softness which 
irradiated her face, making it even more sur- 
passingly lovely. She came nearer to him and 
with both her hands on his shoulders, tiptoed to 
kiss him delicately on the brow, almost as if bless- 
ing him for his consoling love. He caught her 
in his arms, strained her passionately to his breast, 
and for a while at least the whole world and the 
momentous problems confronting them were 
cancelled and forgotten. 

But they were compelled to return to earth 
very soon, and, entering the house, they discussed 
the whole situation with greater calm. Happily 
all the clouds that might have arisen between them 


184 Monsignor Villarosa 

had been dispelled for ever, but the problems 
involved in their case remained, and had to be 
solved. On one point especially Delia set a great 
stress; Guido must never forget, whatever might 
happen, the immense debt of gratitude he owed 
to Monsignore ; and as the young man obstinately 
maintained that the outrage cast upon his fiancee 
by his uncle cancelled every memory of the past, 
she sternly reminded him that nothing could ever 
do that, and that gratitude was by no means a 
virtue, but the fulfilment of a duty to be held 
sacred at all costs by a true heart. 

After much discussion it was decided that 
Guido must return immediately to his regiment, 
and from Milan write to his father announcing 
his engagement; as to the marriage, Delia abso- 
lutely refused to fix a date, however remote, in spite 
of Guido's insistent plea that it was the only 
fitting rejoinder to the infamous slanders which 
were circulating. She declared that such a solu- 
tion was contrary to their higher feelings, and that, 
at all costs, Guido must ever consider himself 
bound to respect the convictions of his uncle, 
groundless as they might have been, and only act 
in absolute opposition to them when all endeav- 
ors to persuade him of their lack of substance 
had failed. To this end, Guido must take his 


The Letter Marked ‘‘Private” 185 


time, and when he had completely reacquired his 
equanimity write to Monsignore at great length, 
beginning by the expression of his grief for the 
words he had uttered under the sway of a great 
and justified resentment, and then proceeding to 
maintain patiently and respectfully his intentions. 
In justice to Delia and to himself, he must urge 
Monsignore not to allow prejudice and calumny 
to obscure his mind, and beg him personally to 
examine the facts of the case, the history of Delia’s 
marriage and divorce, as, no doubt, such a re- 
search would not perhaps alter his dogmatic 
views, but might at least radically modify his 
opposition to the marriage, rendering it possible 
for him to regard it at least without hostility. 

When this understanding had been reached, 
Guido left Delia after a long and tender leave- 
taking and set out on foot for Varese to catch the 
first available train back to Milan. Passing by 
his uncle’s home, which seemed engulfed in mourn- 
ful darkness with the exception of a single light 
twinkling in the Bishop’s study, the young man 
was forced to acknowledge to himself that Delia 
was right about his real feelings towards his 
uncle, and, half-ashamed at what he yet con- 
sidered a puerile weakness, he gently waved his 
hand in tender salutation to the silent old house. 


CHAPTER VII 


TWO VIEWS CONCERNING MARRIAGE 

Monsignor Villarosa’s unexpected estrange- 
ment from his nephew by no means affected his 
participation in the agrarian struggle; it rather 
intensified his activity, as if he wished to seek 
forgetfulness in mental and physical exhaustion. 
The Bishop’s dismissal of Graglia and his solemn 
protest at the meeting of Taino were widely dis- 
cussed; it now became imperative to set an ex- 
ample of how the estate should be managed upon 
a radically new basis, and Monsignore set to work 
to evolve the solution of this problem. He con- 
ceived this readjustment of the relations between 
landlord and tenants not so much as a settlement 
of his own private affairs, but as an opportimity 
to present a practical example for that great 
majority of landowners who would be only too 
anxious, according to his own optimistic views, 
to follow his example. Villarosa was evidently 
hypnotised by his chivalrous dream of righting the 

i86 


Two Views Concerning Marriage 187 

injustice of centuries with one stroke of his pen, 
and as he considered his mission as entrusted to 
him by a special order from Heaven, he was 
impervious to all worldly considerations. 

To this end he had almost daily consultations 
with Centeu, who never failed to work upon Mon- 
signore’s good heart in the matter of concessions 
to the peasants, and, of course, with Don Davide 
Capelletti, now the recognised head of the new 
party. This young Curato, who, much to the 
displeasure of jealous and suspicious Don Paolino, 
had become almost intimate with Villarosa, being 
neither hampered by too many scruples of con- 
science nor ruled by high-toned principles, very 
soon concluded that by continual flattery Mon- 
signore might be induced to act as he wished. 
This was perhaps true, but only to a certain point. 
Villarosa’s vanity could be worked upon only by 
the most delicate and unobtrusive adulation, as 
anything approaching fulsomeness grated upon 
his sensitive nature, and once his suspicion was 
aroused, he soon discovered the motive behind the 
flattery, which was sufficient to upset the best- 
laid schemes. More than once Don Davide 
blundered, and this, together with the Curato’s 
clumsy attempts at undue familiarity, although 
attributed by Monsignore to lack of breeding. 


1 88 Monsignor Villarosa 

froze up his aristocratic reserve, and precluded 
further steps in the growing intimacy. 

In these conditions the brilliant but impractical 
mind of Monsignore evolved what he fondly be- 
lieved to be the one perfect and harmonious solu- 
tion of the problem; it embodied all measures, 
not only for the economic welfare of the peasantry, 
but also for the uplift of their intellectual and 
moral conditions. His enthusiasm was so ardent 
and his forgetfulness of self so complete that he 
had stripped the landlord almost of all his rights 
and privileges, and thus left him defenceless at 
the mercy of the tenants. This was a serious 
blunder in the interests of the peasants them- 
selves, but he committed the still graver one of 
attributing to them mental qualities and possi- 
bilities rendered utterly inconceivable by centuries 
of ignorance and oppression. 

The final draft of the project once completed, 
Monsignore, always over-scrupulous, decided that 
it must be examined and passed by some one, not 
a landlord, in full sympathy with the peasants* 
aspirations. He consulted Dr. Sandri, and this 
clever but most utopian of mortals vociferously 
endorsed the Bishop*s project, to the undisguised 
fury of Don Paolino, and declared that he had 
just the man for the job, so that the following 


Two Views Concerning Marriage 189 

day the precious document was entrusted by the 
doctor personally to the hands of Avvocato Guido- 
baldi. This lawyer, a university chum of the 
doctor's, was a very clever but extremely ambi- 
tious man, whose one aim was to represent Varese 
in the Italian Parliament. Guidobaldi instantly 
saw what advantage it would be for him to link 
his name to that scheme; he was aware that, 
being a declared Socialist, the Conservative land- 
lords would oppose him anyhow, while to be at 
one with Monsignor Villarosa insured him the 
full force of the Peasants’ League and the influ- 
ence of the clergy. He accordingly closed his 
eyes to the many weak points of the Bishop’s 
creation, and wrote him an enthusiastic letter, 
thanking him for the privilege and honor of 
co-operating with one who would be celebrated 
in all time as one of the benefactors of humanity. 
His minute and critical examination of the project 
had failed to discover the necessity of any sub- 
stantial alterations, and he suggested only a few 
modifications of form upon legal grounds. 

Villarosa was elated by Guidobaldi’s letter, and 
Don Paolino, overwhelmed by this violent dis- 
ruption of the old order of things, was cruel enough 
to exclaim: “What will our Guido say when he 
hears of this precious piece of work?” Mon- 


190 Monsignor Villarosa 

signore winced visibly at the thrust, but sternly 
replied: “Conte Guido Calvello has no say what- 
ever in the management of the Villarosa property ; 
if he had, he would certainly approve of all I have 
done!” But gloom settled once more upon the 
Bishop’s face, and never left it till the time came 
for the publication in Corgeno of its new organisa- 
tion. On the day fixed. Monsignore, Don Pao- 
lino, and Dr. Sandri drove there from Casbenno, 
and were received by Awocato Guidobaldi, the 
family solicitor Dr. Ceretti, and the Corgeno 
committee of the League, with Centeu at its head. 
In the main drawing-room of the old house the 
proceedings began in the presence of all the titular 
tenants; Guidobaldi read aloud the new “Pact 
of Tenantry,” as it was called, and explained it 
carefully, section by section. Monsignore joy- 
fully saw how readily all understood its clauses, 
but received a very painful shock when they reached 
the chapter setting forth the close solidarity re- 
quired from the members of the new association 
by which Corgeno would be farmed for a long 
lease. In the formula, “One for all, all for One,” 
they seemed to scent danger, because they could 
not imderstand it, and Centeu, at the end of the 
section, unwilling to reveal his limitations, airily 
commented: “Yes, of course, it means . . . that 


Two Views Concerning Marriage 191 

we must all think for ourselves.” Monsignore 
alone found no heart to smile; the others laughed 
outright, Don Paolino more uproariously than the 
others, and he cried out, ^‘Centeu, thou block- 
head, no danger that thou thinkest of others than 
thyself!” Monsignore silenced Paolino, but every 
one felt that the inherent weakness of the scheme 
had been demonstrated. 

After the pact was read they adjourned for 
lunch. It turned out to be a most lively and 
contentious affair. Dr. Sandri and Guidobaldi, 
insisting that, in the prevailing conditions which 
had lasted for centuries, the peasants could never 
have become altruistic, extolled the ready grasp 
of their intelligence ; Don Paolino ruthlessly 
exposed their native meanness, their incredible 
ignorance, and boundless selfishness; and Dr. 
Ceretti, a frenzied Conservative, who as the family 
solicitor was entrusted with the important minis- 
terial function of drawing up the new lease, was 
almost tragic in his forebodings as to the con- 
sequences of Monsignore’s folly,” and considered 
what was going on at Corgeno not much less than 
a blasphemous desecration of the holy laws which 
form the very palladium of society. 

After lunch the general meeting of the tenants 
was convened under the presidency of Guidobaldi ; 


192 Monsignor Villarosa 

it turned out to be a huge success, being most 
orderly and harmonious. The signing of the pact 
took a long time, as it was a laborious operation, 
involving much expenditure of energy and ink, 
especially for those who could not write. The 
new organisation, to be named *‘The Villarosa 
Tenants’ Agricultural Association,” was formally 
constituted, and its officers duly balloted for and 
elected; Centeu was president, and the Board 
was made up of the leading lights of the Peasants* 
League. The long day’s work was finally closed 
by the reading of the new lease, a ceremony per- 
formed by Ceretti in deep, lugubrious tones, 
interspersed here and there, at the most obnox- 
ious points, by his audible groans, which invari- 
ably called forth sarcastic allusions to his morbid 
conservatism from Guidobaldi’s ready wit. Then 
came the crowning and most important event of 
the ceremony, the signing of the lease. Centeu 
signed for the association, then it was Monsignore’s 
turn. 

Villarosa stood up, his delicate cheeks pink with 
gratified pride, a great light in his eyes, arid in 
the expectant hush he turned to those around him, 
saying with deep earnestness: “May the Almighty 
bless and prosper all of you who have helped me 
in my work, and may He endow the new associa- 


Two Views Concerning Marriage 193 

tion with His wisdom and strength. I can now 
exclaim, as Simeon, ^Nirnc Dimittis, Domine, 
servum tuum!’ for my work heredown is nearly 
ended.” Then, taking a new pen, he signed his 
full name and titles. An awed and solemn silence 
came over the men there assembled; they all 
obscurely felt the presence of something infinitely 
higher and purer than their petty ambitions, and 
saw that whatever might be the fate in store for 
Villarosa's creation, it was the germ of a new 
world. 

Guidobaldi broke this silence by claiming as his 
fee the pen with which Monsignore had signed 
the lease: it was destined to become a priceless 
relic and pass into history. This delicate fiattery 
touched Monsignore in his tenderest spot, and, 
though affecting to take it in lighter vein, he 
handed it himself to the astute lawyer. 

The company then broke up, and Monsignore 
drove back to Casbenno with Sandri and Don 
Paolino. In the soft October gloaming they 
passed through the main street of the village, and 
its whole population, men, women, and children, 
lined it in a dense mass, seemingly crazed by 
enthusiasm. The men cheered madly ; the women 
and children hustled and fought each other to 
scramble up and kiss Monsignore’s hands or even 


13 


194 Monsignor Villarosa 

the hem of his mantle, so that the coachman had 
the greatest difficulty to prevent accidents from 
happening. Even when the horses could finally 
trot, the crowd managed to keep up with them, 
but running and cheering at the same time soon 
exhausted the most indefatigable, and the trio 
in the carriage were able to discuss the events of 
the day. 

Monsignor Villarosa’s innocent vanity must 
have been tremendously gratified when the ^‘Pact 
of Corgeno,” as it was afterwards called, was 
divulged. Guidobaldi used it, of course, to its 
fullest extent for his own personal ambition, and 
Don Davide Capelletti was quite as anxious to 
inform the world at large of the victory of the 
new party. Prina issued a special number of the 
Corriere Cattolico with the pact in extenso, accom- 
panied by a leader in which Bishop Villarosa was 
raised to the stars. The Socialist papers of Lom- 
bardy took up the subject, and very soon it was 
known and discussed throughout Italy. Then 
the reviews published special articles about it 
from economic and political standpoints; on the 
whole, the critics rendered justice to Villarosa’s 
brilliant conception and philanthropic spirit, but 
took it most severely to task from a practical 
point of view. From the camp of the landlords 


Two Views Concerning Marriage 195 

and associated interests, all-powerful in Lombardy, 
there came a mighty howl of demmciation and 
obloquy; they decried the Bishop of Varese as a 
vulgar demagogue, a shameless apostate who 
was undermining the pillars of Church and State 
and who ought to be forcibly restrained from 
doing any further harm. The more charitable 
declared Monsignor Villarosa insane, and asked 
that he should be treated as such. 

Don Paolino lived in a state of perennial ebtd- 
lition arising from the perusal of numberless 
newspaper clippings, either glorifying the abhorred 
pact or virulently attacking his idol. Monsignore. 
This, added to the steady stream of letters from 
all sorts of people, many anonymous, containing 
threats, praise, insults, and advice, which began 
to pour down steadily upon his master, drove 
Don Paolino within an ace of losing his head. 
Villarosa on the other hand, seemed to thrive in 
this peculiar atmosphere of polemics ; he had 
evidently dismissed from his mind the estrange- 
ment from Guido and its causes. At any rate, 
he never mentioned “the boy” and Don Paolino 
feared to touch this topic, as he knew not what to 
think of this silence. 

One day, however, two letters came which 
violently upset this apparent calm. Don Paolino 


196 Monsignor Villarosa 

was, as usual, reading aloud to Monsignore the 
morning’s mail, when Guido’s familiar handwriting 
caught his eye upon a bulky envelope; the good 
priest picked it delicately out, and with a pre- 
monitory clearing of his throat, remarked to 
Monsignore, “This letter — ahem! — needs, I think, 
your Excellency’s very personal attention,” and 
he held out the big letter. Monsignore started 
violently as he saw the writing, but snatching it 
without a word, placed it between the leaves of a 
book at his elbow, and as Don Paolino did not 
seem inclined to proceed with the morning’s work, 
curtly advised him to continue. But the obsti- 
nate secretary displayed as usual his dilatory 
tactics, and the Bishop angrily took up at random 
a letter within his reach, violently tore it open, 
and began reading it himself. 

This time, however. Monsignore got more than 
he had bargained for, the missive turning out to 
be from Conte Calvello, his brother-in-law. It 
was not long, but very much to the point: he 
advised Villarosa that Guido had written, an- 
nouncing his engagement and forthcoming mar- 
riage, and asking for his approbation. Calvello, 
of course, considered this merely as an act of 
proper deference, because, as he stated, he had 
long since ceded to Monsignore his parental 


Two Views Concerning Marriage 197 

authority, and furthermore Guido needed no 
authorisation from any one, being fully of age, 
and financially more than independent. But he 
could not help feeling rather puzzled at Guido’s 
unusual reticence about the person, family, and 
surroundings of his fiancee, of whom he barely 
mentioned the name. Calvello took for granted 
that Villarosa was thoroughly informed about all 
the particulars of the proposed match, and asked 
that his brother-in-law should let him know what 
he thought about it, hoping that there was nothing 
undesirable or detrimental in the proposed union. 

Before Don Paolino could fully realise where 
he was and what had happened, he found himself 
unceremoniously bundled out of the study, and 
informed that his services would not be needed for 
the day; he had, however, managed to recognise 
Conte Calvello’s writing on the torn envelope, so 
his chagrin at being debarred from hearing the 
news, and, maybe, upholding Guido’s cause, was 
unbounded. But there was no resisting that 
forcible ejection ; Paolino withdrew to his fastness 
of the Roccolo, grumbling so audibly and osten- 
tatiously as he went that Monsignore could not 
help smiling, though. Heaven knew, he had not 
felt as much distressed and hesitating for many 
years. When Don Paolino’s groans had died 


198 Monsignor Villarosa 

gradually away, this smile was replaced by a heavy 
frown, more of sadness and of concentration than 
real anger. He resumed his seat, and, taking a 
desperate resolution, caught up Guido’s unopened 
letter, but his nerveless fingers seemed to fail 
him, and for a while he could only stare helplessly 
at the address. With a mighty effort of will he 
overcame his weakness, and purposely schooling 
himself to be methodical, carefully cut the envelope 
and unfolded the voluminous epistle. 

For over three hours he read and re-read it; 
intensely prejudiced against divorce, for him a 
mortal sin and an imspeakable shame, he could 
not, however, refrain from wondering how it was 
that a subtle transformation had wonderfully 
improved Guido’s mentality; the letter had been 
obviously written without any extraneous sugges- 
tion, but the somewhat puerile crudity of the 
young officer’s thoughts and expressions had 
ripened into the straightforward simplicity of the 
virile man, whose mind, cleared of all uncertain- 
ties, unerringly strives to reach its goal. The 
story of Delia’s marriage and divorce, as it was 
told, brought with it to Monsignore such a power- 
ful though recondite leaven of thought, such a 
revelation of psychical problems of which he must 
honestly confess an utter ignorance, that for a 


Two Views Concerning Marriage 199 

while all the cherished beliefs of a lifetime seemed 
ready to crumble into dust. But these beliefs, 
which his Church has so patiently and cunningly 
interwoven with its fundamental dogmas and 
identified with them, die exceedingly hard, even 
in a mind as alert and receptive as that of Villa- 
rosa. He braced himself to resist this curious 
feeling creeping over him, and attributed it to 
the temptation of Satan. The devil is very much 
alive, especially for theologians, and serves as an 
extraordinarily valid excuse for that mental 
inertness which entices human beings to shun 
rather than solve vital problems of consicence. 

Monsignore then realised that *^this woman’’ 
was much more formidable than he had imagined 
at first; instinctively he divined that the miracu- 
lous transformation of his nephew’s mentality was 
exclusively due to her influence, and that the 
struggle to save Guido from what he considered 
everlasting perdition must be terribly hard and 
uncertain. At the same time, subconsciously, a 
peculiar, undefined current was drawing him to- 
wards her, a current in which curiosity, sympathy, 
and the irresistible appeal of the Ewig-Weihlisches 
were curiously blended. As a consequence of this 
he came to the conclusion that one only line of 
action was opened to him: this Delia Leoni must 


200 Monsignor Villarosa 

be, he felt sure of it, a woman of great intelligence; 
he must therefore appeal to her directly, demon- 
strate conclusively the impossibility of her union 
with Guido, and finally persuade, frighten, or 
wheedle her into dismissing her lover. As to the 
inherent difficulties of the task. Monsignore made 
light of them; he forgot that he knew absolutely 
nothing about women, and that even a silly girl, 
just out of boarding-school, would have twisted 
him round her little finger. Monsignore trusted 
blindly in what he thought unanswerable argu- 
ments, and not a little, it must be confessed, in 
his own personal magnetism and in the weight of 
his imposing personality. 

As soon as this purpose crystallised in his mind 
Monsignore could sit no longer; he rose and ner- 
vously paced to and fro in his study, discussing 
with himself how it must be done. No, he would 
not write to her ; he must pounce upon the “enemy” 
unawares, not allowing her time to prepare for 
the encounter or refuse peremptorily his request 
for an interview. The sooner the attack took 
place the better, and with his usual impulsiveness 
he suddenly made up his mind that no moment 
was better than the present. A youthful flush 
mantled his delicate cheeks, and more vividly 
than ever there sparkled in his eyes that bright- 


Two Views Concerning Marriage 201 

ness which had never been completely obliterated 
either by age or by care; with the alacrity of a 
young man he passed into his bedroom, glanced 
for a moment in the big looking-glass, and chang- 
ing his sash to a newer and glossier one, he smoothed 
his silvery curls under the violet mozzetta, and 
snatching up his tricorno and ebony cane, rapidly 
tripped down his private stair and was out on 
the avenue, upon his way to the Villa Meroni. 
His elastic step, the vivacity of his movements, 
the litheness of his juvenile bearing, all openly 
revealed that Monsignor Villarosa was on ad- 
venture bent, and that the prospect was extra- 
ordinarily exhilarating to him. 

Don Paolino, from his perch at the Roccolo, 
caught a glimpse of his Excellency just as he was 
entering the enemy’s camp, and the sight gave the 
secretary such a violent shock that he nearly 
dropped off his narrow seat, at the risk of breaking 
his neck. 

But as the road up to the Villa Meroni became 
more and more steep. Monsignore unconsciously 
had to moderate his ardor and walk slower, with 
the result that he was able to consider how to 
announce his unexpected visit. That he was 
behaving in a most unusual and unceremonious 
manner no one could have been more aware than 


202 Monsignor Villarosa 

himself, but, to his mind, the circumstances were 
such that they warranted an immediate action, 
untrammelled by the polite formalities of society. 
This thought, however, was not of much help to 
him, and the nearer he came to the house the more 
uncomfortable and dubious he felt. Fate, as it 
often does, came apparently to his rescue; the 
gardener, a Casbenno man whom he well knew, 
suddenly emerged from behind a clump of bushes, 
and, not a little startled at the sight of such a 
visitor, greeted him with a deep obeisance and a 
respectful inquiry about what he could do to serve 
his Excellency. “Is the Marchesa di Tavernay 
at home?*' Monsignore queried in his grandest 
manner. “If she is, please let her know that I 
am here and must see her at once on important 
business.” 

The gardener vanished, while Monsignore 
walked slowly on towards the main entrance, 
never dreaming that from an upper window Delia 
had seen and heard him. The sight of the stately 
old prelate had been a violent shock and surprise 
to her; she was totally unprepared for any such 
visit, but the resolute bravery of her perfectly 
balanced soul never wavered a minute. She 
nourished a profound aversion to and distrust of 
the ministers of that Church from which her for- 


Two Views Concerning Marriage 203 

bears had suffered persecution, prison, and even 
death; she realised that the Bishop’s visit signi- 
fied that she was about to undergo a most painful 
interview; but as she narrowly scrutinised his 
delicate features, she could not help noting the 
striking resemblance between uncle and nephew, 
and, in spite of herself, she was forced to smile 
almost tenderly at the quaint sameness of their 
guileless expressions. So, when her butler, a 
sturdy old Romagnol who hated “the crows” 
with a deathless hatred, announced the visit of 
Bishop Villarosa in a tone which amounted to a 
proposal of immediate and forcible ejection, she 
quietly ordered him, to his unbounded surprise 
and dissatisfaction, to usher his Excellency into 
the drawing-room, and tell him that she would 
be with him in a few minutes. 

Monsignore, as he stood by a table covered with 
books and magazines, took in at a glance the 
intimate and subtle refinement, of everything 
surrounding him ; with a sort of remorse, that was 
almost a pleasurable sensation, he noted a hundred 
little traits which revealed in this “woman” 
tastes and habits similar to his own, while the 
exquisite femininity of the ambient seemed to sap 
all the sternness of his hostile resolve, and leave 
him powerless and tongue-tied. Suddenly a door 


204 Monsignor Villarosa 

opened and Delia appeared; for an instant she 
stood erect on the threshold between the rich 
draperies which decorated it, then she quietly 
and gracefully came forward and in an evenly 
modulated voice courteously asked Monsignore 
to be seated and state the important business to 
which she owed the honor of his visit. 

Never in his existence had Villarosa found him- 
self in a more embarrassing position, nor at a 
greater loss for words. The woman” was so 
very different from anything he had imagined her 
to be, quite the opposite of what his prejudiced 
mind had decided that “an awful limb of Satan, 
a divorced female” must be like, that, forgetting 
his manners and his mission, he stood there as 
bewitched, staring at the well-poised little head, 
at that broad, thoughtful brow, and, above all, at 
those proud, fearless, hawk-like eyes. With her 
unerring woman’s intuition, Delia immediately 
fathomed the Bishop’s thoughts and the ghost of 
a smile hovered around her mouth, softening not 
a little the severe composure of her face, as she 
patiently waited for her visitor to speak. At 
last, with a violent effort, Monsignore wrenched 
himself from under the overpowering spell, and, 
regardless of all preliminaries, managed to blurt 
out: 


Two Views Concerning Marriage 205 

‘'Guido . . . my nephew . . . has told me 
. . . has written me . . . that he intends to take 
you as his wife. But this cannot be . . . must 

not be ” and there he stuck, unable to find 

another word. 

“And why not, your Excellency?” came the 
calm, unwavering question. 

Delia’s even, passionless tone goaded Mon- 
signore to fluent speech; he was waxing terribly 
angry, but if he had only known, angry against 
himself for his helpless state of panic. “You — 
you, a married woman, ask me such a question! 
How can you forget your marriage vows before 
the Altar . . . and that the Marchese di Tavernay 
is living? How can you forget that no human 
agency can break the sacred ties pronounced in- 
dissoluble by the Church? Yes, I know, Satan 
is afield with the lure of the flesh . . . you are 
young . . . and very beautiful . . . and you 
tempted Guido!” 

Delia’s eyes flashed ominously. She rose to her 
feet. Drawing herself up with imperial dignity, 
she interrupted irresistibly the Bishop, addressing 
him by his secular title, to impress upon him that 
his ecclesiastical position had no weight in her 
mind: “Signor Conte! You are beside yourself, 
and forget where you are and with whom you are 


2 o 6 Monsignor Villarosa 

talking. Even the cloth you bear is no excuse 
to insult a woman ” 

If ever Monsignore had felt ashamed of his 
words, it was in this minute. Not only had he 
committed a rude act, ever unworthy of a gentle- 
man, but he had been guilty of an undoubted 
injustice; that pure, spiritual face, as transparent 
as crystal, could not be that of a temptress. He 
crimsoned to his eyes; with that stately grace 
which was so natural to him, he bowed deeply, 
and slowly said: “I crave your pardon, madam. 
You are right, I am beside myself; but do not 
forget that I am laboring under a terrible strain, 
for having brought up Guido from babyhood to 
reverence and obey the eternal truths of God’s 
own Church, it is more than I can bear to see him 
suddenly trample wantonly upon them, because 
you happened to cross his path! Is it not right 
and natural that I should recoil in horror before 
such a sinful desecration of a Holy Sacrament? 
that I should implore you not to cast upon both 
your lives the curse, the awful curse in store for 
those who infringe the law, ‘Those whom God 
hath joined together, let no man put asunder?’” 

“ ‘Those whom the Church hath joined to- 
gether’ is what you mean. Monsignor Villarosa,” 
Delia retorted with a mirthless laugh; “for your 


Two Views Concerning Marriage 207 

Church arrogates to itself the right of ousting 
God, and of pronouncing in His stead and often 
against Him! ‘Those whom God hath joined 
together’ no man can set asunder, but when the 
Church steps in, and for the furtherance of its 
boundless lust for material power makes of a civil 
contract a Sacrament that, grossly administered 
by man, cannot be dissolved again by man, then 
it prostitutes the name of God and makes Him a 
wretched instrument in their grasp. What do 
you care whether or not a human being is con- 
demned to lifelong despair, riven to chains of 
vice and shame, and placed in the fearful dilemma 
of choosing between the vice that withers the soul 
and the cruel virtue that casts it out in a loveless 
solitude? You have treasures of toleration for 
nameless immoralities as long as your man-made 
dogmas are respected, but woe to those who stand 
forth in the unassailable armor of their purity, 
and demand that they should have their place in the 
sun, to live and love according to God’s own law!” 

There was a short silence, then before Mon- 
signore could recover from the tumultuous whirl 
of all his faculties, Delia held up her hand, and 
he never could forget the subtle witchery of her 
beauty as she stood before him dimly outlined in 
the growing dusk. Then she went on : 


2 o 8 Monsignor Villarosa 

“When this is said, I can now assure your 
Excellency that, if he so wishes, Guido is per- 
fectly free, that I would never for a second keep 
him to his word. Guido knows this fully well, 
as I have repeatedly told him. But what of the 
awful curse that you would be casting upon his 
life, and still more upon your own. Monsignor 
Villarosa, for 'putting asunder those whom God 
hath joined together 7 ’’ 

She paused again to let her words filter through, 
as the bewildered old gentleman stood helplessly 
gazing upon her, then with a deep and novel 
tenderness in her voice, she continued : 

“Guido has a heart of gold, the fearless sim- 
plicity of a child, and to you, his uncle, the man 
who has moulded his heart and mind, and whom 
he venerates and cherishes, I am proud to confess 
that I love him . . . love him with all the forces 
of my soul, of that soul which he has uplifted by 
his pure, selfless devotion from the bitterness and 
despair of a ruined life to an undreamed ideal 
of happiness and peace! If for an instant you 
could forget your cloth and the blind prejudices 
of a lifetime which are holding your judgment as 
in a grasp of iron, if you could allow your vision 
to range undistorted over the true meaning of 
life, then, fatally, even were you never willing to 


Two Views Concerning Marriage 209 

admit it, you would appreciate the deadly blight 
with which the Church of man has poisoned and 
adulterated God’s own living truth.” 

Delia had spoken without once altering her 
tone, with the clearness of a silver bell in the peace- 
ful silence of the evening hour, and every word 
had sunk down with a power almost superhuman 
in Monsignor Villarosa’s consciousness and left 
him stunned and breathless; the priest in him was 
carried away by a furious anger which would have 
found vent in a torrent of anathemas as abun- 
dantly furnished by the numberless authorities 
of the Church, but the man and the thinker, that 
best part of him which neither education nor habit 
had ever been able to stifle, irresistibly stemmed 
the ciurent of abuse all but too ready to overflow. 
Again, that all-conquering love, so unmistakable 
in Guido’s letter and Delia’s words, awed and 
attracted him overpoweringly ; f or it was, strangely, 
the first time in his life that he had been brought 
face to face with it, and the long parched soul of 
this self-appointed dweller of the desert hailed 
its appearance as that of a rill of crystal waters 
wherein to slake his mortal thirst. 

Pale as death, with a tremor that shook him as 

an aspen leaf. Monsignore lifted up his arms as 

if in a despairing supplication to Heaven. He 
14 


210 Monsignor Villarosa 

looked unseeingly round him, then, a pathetic, 
almost tragic figure, with bent head and tottering 
steps, he blindly groped his way to the door. 
Delia hurriedly stepped forward to lend him 
assistance, but refrained from doing so as she saw 
the shudder of agony which shook his frame at 
her approach. The tender light which had soft- 
ened her hawk-like eyes shone as vivid and as 
sweet as before, and now it was intensified by the 
divine compassion of victorious womanhood. 
She obscurely felt that she had fought and won a 
great battle for Guido and for herself, but even 
more than a paltry personal advantage, it was a 
victory of light over the powers of darkness, it 
was the sowing of the seed of truth. 

As to Monsignore, he never was able to account 
how he managed to leave the Villa Meroni; when 
he recovered the possibility of thinking, he was 
slowly descending the winding avenue, and from 
a turning he remembered gazing in admiration on 
the thin crescent of the new moon just setting 
behind Monte Rosa. With the capacity for 
thought he recovered also that of analysing his 
sensations; what had come over him that a mere 
wisp of a girl had utterly routed and silenced him? 
His presence of mind, his eloquence, his dialectic, 
and, above all, his fulminating powers of denun- 


Two Views Concerning Marriage 21 1 

ciation, how had they disappeared? He could 
find no answer to the questions he asked of him- 
self, and, mechanically, he stopped short to ponder. 
In the deepest recesses of his mind a new and 
marvellous faculty was budding, the wiser and 
broader comprehension of life, above and beyond 
the suffocating trammels of dogma and of Church, 
and nearer to the uncorrupted ideals of his Divine 
Master. Furiously he attempted to suffocate 
the inner voice of his new-born conscience, hoping 
to silence it for ever, and in the wild disorder of 
his whole being he turned towards the Villa Meroni 
where now a few lights were twinkling, as if wish- 
ing to implore from the God of vengeance a ruth- 
less punishment upon that “woman’s*’ head. 
But, no! it was useless, he could not, he could 
not ! Then he fled, as if pursued, until he reached 
the entrance of his own gardens. 

But what would Monsignore have thought if 
he could have read what Delia was writing at that 
very moment to Guido? “Your imcle has just 
left. Imagine my feelings when I saw him walk 
up to the house! I guessed at once that he had 
received your letter. The scene must have been 
awful for him, as I did nearly all the talking and 
told him many hard truths, but, oh, my Guido! 
he looks so much like you that when I saw him 


212 Monsignor Villarosa 

pale and trembling, almost ready to faint, my 
heart ached to throw my arms round his neck 
and draw his head upon my shoulder to comfort 
him and smooth those lovely silver curls of oiu* 
(you see, I say our) Ziggio.” 

In the meanwhile, Don Paolino was pacing 
nervously to and fro in the garden; the dinner 
hour was long past, and Monsignore, always the 
personification of punctuality, had not made an 
appearance, so the good secretary was greatly 
concerned and anxious about his master, not to 
mention the fact that he was consumed with curi- 
osity, as he had seen where the Bishop had gone. 
When Don Paolino suddenly saw Monsignore 
coming towards him at a rapid gait, he greeted 
him in his loudest and cheeriest tones : 

“Back at last, your Excellency! I was just 
preparing to come after you, as I feared to leave 
you any longer alone — alone as Daniel in the den 
of the wild beasts. But now I exult to see from 
your expression that you have triumphed over 
that shameless huzzy 

Monsignore turned furiously upon the innocent 
secretary, with all the “Villarosa temper” flaming 
in his face and voice. 

“How dare you ... ay, how dare you call 
by such foul names a lady whom you do not even 


Two Views Concerning Marriage 213 

know? You, forsooth, a priest, a minister of 

love and charity? Donna Delia Leoni ’’ but 

he stopped short, as abruptly as he had begun, 
blushed crimson to the roots of his white hair, and 
to the utter confusion and amazement of poor 
Don Paolino, rushed up to his study and locked 
himself in. 


CHAPTER VIII 


A SCHEMING PRELATE 

After that memorable evening some few weeks 
passed by in an apparent tranquillity; at all 
events, Don Paolino could not discover what was 
going on in Monsignore’s mind, though he en- 
deavored by varied stratagems to fathom the 
secret. Upon certain subjects there was no draw- 
ing out his master, who remained impenetrable. 
Especially the Villa Meroni and its mistress 
seemed to be utterly tabooed, so that, if the con- 
versation appeared to drift even distantly in that 
direction Monsignore’s lips would suddenly shut 
up as a trap, and the unfortunate questioner felt 
that he was butting against a brick wall. Only 
once had Villarosa pronounced her name: Don 
Paolino, discussing some imimportant topic con- 
cerning the garden, purposely spoke of her as 
“that woman over there,” and Monsignore tartly 
admonished him that the name of that lady was 
Donna Delia Leoni, and that he had better not 


214 


A Scheming Prelate 215 

forget it. As to Guido, Monsignore was consider- 
ably less reticent; with great satisfaction Don 
Paolino discovered that his master’s resentment 
had simmered down to a notable extent, and that 
a reconciliation might become possible. 

The truth was that in Villarosa’s soul a deep, 
silent, tenacious conflict was raging, a conflict 
which must be faced to its bitter end. In a mind 
as alert as his, with the acutely sensitive con- 
science he possessed, the struggle must necessarily 
be a tremendously flerce one, and accordingly 
leave indelible traces. Monsignore grew rapidly 
thinner and more ascetic-looking, with an im- 
quenchable flame burning steadily in his wistful 
eyes. 

The attempt to answer his brother-in-law’s 
questions revealed to him the importance of the 
battle which he must flght, but with his datmtless 
energy he never flinched from it. What could he 
say to Conte Calvello? The problem was far 
knottier than he at first imagined, the more so 
that, temperamentally, he could not stoop to 
crafty elusions of the great principles at stake. 
Neither could he resort to one-sided views or be 
untruthful in his statements about Delia. For 
nearly an entire night he labored, successively 
writing and tearing up many replies, then, as the 


2 i 6 Monsignor Villarosa 

first rays of the rising sim mantled with a delicate 
blush his beloved snow-capped mountains, he 
wrote briefly and without hesitation that Donna 
Delia Leoni was the divorced wife of the Marquis 
de Tavemay, a French diplomat, a rou6 and a 
gambler, that she belonged to a very prominent 
family of Romagna well known for its services 
in behalf of Italian independence, that she was 
both beautiful and gifted, and that there was not 
the slightest blemish upon her reputation. He 
went on to say that, personally, he was grievously 
dismayed and saddened by Guido’s intended 
union, because of the unhallowed desecration of 
the Divine laws, but that he was unwillingly 
forced to admit that the religious obstacle was the 
only one he could find, and to confess that he was 
facing, both in Guido and in this lady, a pure and 
noble attachment, which made the fulfilment of 
his duty, as he saw it, most distasteful to him, 
and the result of his efforts more than uncertain. 

When Conte Calvello, who was very much a 
man of the world, received this reply to his in- 
quiries, he was duly shocked at first, but after 
making judicious investigations in Rome, where 
the Leonis and the Tavemays were very well 
known, he came to the conclusion that after all 
the situation was far from being as bad as he 


A Scheming Prelate 217 

feared, and he accordingly wrote to his son, caution- 
ing him, as a matter of course, about the decision 
he intended to take, but declaring that, all con- 
sidered, he had neither the will nor the possibility 
of opposing the match, that, therefore, his future 
daughter-in-law would be affectionately received 
by him and his as a member of the family, pro- 
vided, however, that he succeeded in altering the 
views of Monsignor Villarosa, whose opinion and 
goodwill were, it must be well imderstood, para- 
mount and essential. 

To Guido, however. Monsignore did not reply; 
for this he must necessarily reveal that, in com- 
pliance with his request, he had studied the case 
and found — found what? It was a most startling 
question offered to his conscience, and it drove 
him back to the very thickest of the fray raging 
in his soul. How could he ever humiliate himself 
and lay bare before the eyes of that mere boy the 
distracting confusion in which his faculties had 
been thrown? All the pride of his ecclesiastical 
station, all his vanity as an impeccable judge of 
consciences rebelled at the thought, and though 
contemptuously blaming this weakness, he could 
not master it, and so Guido’s letter remained 
unanswered. 

Early that October an important event seemed 


2 i 8 Monsignor Villarosa 

to restore some, if not quite all, of Monsignor 
Villarosa’s cheerfulness. During the preceding 
weeks, in spite of his work and cares, he had sedu- 
lously corrected the proofs of his volume. The 
Symbolism of the Fourth Gospel had so impressed 
the publishers by the depth and wisdom of its 
conclusions, the chaste beauty of its style, and 
the truly evangelical simplicity of its philosophy, 
that they had rushed the volume through the 
press. One day the mail brought an advance 
copy, and it was a most touching sight to witness 
the tenderness with which the author fondled his 
big volume; to him it was the embodiment of his 
life’s ambition, the one child of his mind, the flesh 
of his flesh, the blood of his blood. All the mental 
agonies, the struggles, the problems, which hemmed 
in his soul from all sides were instantly for- 
gotten, as if carried away by the irresistible tide 
of proud contentment which swept away every- 
thing before it. To Don Paolino he appeared as 
transflgured, rejuvenated, and radiating such a 
luminous aura of joy that the simple priest swore 
that he had clearly seen a halo around his master’s 
silver curls. But the same Don Paolino became 
preternaturally grave and unresponsive when 
Monsignore rapturously announced to him that 
his book had come at last. The secretary’s 


219 


A Scheming Prelate 

hereditary distrust and dislike for any printed 
matter, his haunting fear of Rome’s disapproval, 
and of its dangerous consequences, came back to 
him, a htmdred times stronger now that the fatal 
book was irreparably before the public. In no 
measured terms he expressed his fears, but Villa- 
rosa did not even seem to hear him, and the good 
fellow was obliged to submit to the inevitable, 
swearing once more in his faithful heart to shield 
and protect his master as far as he was able. 

Monsignor Villarosa’s first volume created a 
world-wide sensation, a profound admiration for 
the author and his work being the dominant key- 
note. Without distinction of country or sect all 
critics proclaimed that it was a great and noble 
effort, and men of renown all over the world wrote 
him personal letters of congratulation and en- 
couragement. Of course, the general public had 
only a faint echo of the stir created in the philo- 
sophical and literary circles; but soon the Italian 
daily press became alive to the fact, and excerpts 
from technical journals concerning the Bishop of 
Varese were translated and published. One dis- 
cordant note in this harmonious concert of admira- 
tion was noticed by Don Paolino, and as he was 
perpetually on the qui vive, he called Monsignore’s 
attention to it. The high personages of the 


220 Monsignor Villarosa 

Roman hierarchy, the professors of the Collegio 
Romano, his colleagues in the episcopate to whom 
Monsignore had of course sent complimentary 
copies, unanimously refrained from expressing any 
opinions, merely acknowledging its reception; 
they evidently feared to express themselves in 
any way before they knew wherefrom the wind 
was going to blow. 

And as yet there was no possible means of 
verifying what the supreme and visible Head of 
the Church, or rather, through him, his all-powerful 
but shadowy advisers, were thinking of Mon- 
signor Villarosa’s work. Rome, always prover- 
bially cautious and slow, appeared, in contrast 
with the world's universal and instantaneous 
approval, even slower and more cautious than ever. 
But there was another ominous symptom, which 
was more generally remarked : the CiviltcL Cattolica^ 
the review universally considered as the one 
authorised mouthpiece of the Vatican, after setting 
down The Symbolism of the Fourth Gospel as one 
of the “Books Received" with the notice “To 
be reviewed later," had never mentioned the work 
again, this being an unmistakable sign that the 
Gesu had not yet made up its mind concerning 
it. However, in spite of these perplexing indi- 
cations, in spite of the irrepressible croakings of 


A Scheming Prelate 221 

Don Paolino, Villarosa^s elation and confidence 
in the final and decisive approbation of his Holiness 
could not be shaken. 

The fashion in which the clergy of Monsignore’s 
own diocese greeted the volume of their pastor 
was most instructive and almost pathetic. Of 
course, spiritually and scientifically, it was so far 
above the heads of the overwhelming majority 
that, in so far as they were concerned, it might as 
well have been written in some unknown and 
mysterious language. The deplorably low stand- 
ard of education imparted to them in the semina- 
ries, the meagre historical and literary store of 
information which they had, parrot-like, acquired 
during their so-called '‘studies” and then rapidly 
forgotten during many years of material routine 
and bookless sloth, certainly did not equip them 
to understand such a work. But they, notwith- 
standing, chattered very freely about it whenever 
they congregated, and with great curiosity asked 
endless questions of the few among them who were 
supposedly capable of reading the book, and may- 
be of understanding it. These elect, for their 
part, were suspiciously vague and undetermined 
in their replies, even the least wise among them 
realising that it was an impossibility for them to 
pass any judgment; consequently the clergy were 


222 Monsignor Villarosa 

blandly proud and not a little surprised at the 
success of their Bishop. 

Two men alone in the diocese would have been 
able to speak intelligently of Monsignor Villarosa's 
book: one was Don Sisto Prina, the journalist, 
the other Arciprete Sidoli. Prina could not pos- 
sibly remain silent, but the sly fox, in the two 
high-sounding but vacuous articles he published 
in his paper, took scrupulous care not to say any- 
thing to which he could not adapt the most con- 
venient signification at any given eventuality, the 
obstinate silence of the Vatican and of its organ 
seeming to him suspicious in the extreme. Sidoli, 
avowedly the chief of the Zelanti, would not speak, 
and, master-hypocrite that he was, masked his 
silence by pretending a self -debasing humility. 
To all who questioned him, even to Villarosa 
himself, who, knowing him to be his most dangerous 
enemy, had aggressively demanded his opinion, 
he replied, “Who am I that I should pass judg- 
ment upon the thoughts of my superior?’* in such 
a tone that it was impossible to insist. 

At the same time, this wave of success spurred 
on Monsignore to continue and to broaden his 
apostolate in favor of the peasants and to labor 
for their elevation to a higher intellectual and 
moral level; his anxiety to escape from the secret 


A Scheming Prelate 223 

struggle of his conscience caused him to intensify 
his episcopal activities. Accompanied by Don 
Paolino, perpetually grumbling at the “bewilder- 
ing frenzy’' of his master, though following him 
with the resignation of a martyr, the Bishop went 
from village to village, preaching, teaching, exhort- 
ing with a marvellous energy, a boundless patience, 
and a reckless expenditure of self. He lavished 
upon those untutored crowds priceless treasures 
of love and devotion, seeing nothing else before 
him but that high mission which his Divine Master 
had entrusted to his care as the one duty of his 
remaining days. His audiences listened with 
bated breath to his inspired words — they were 
unconsciously awed by the pure majesty of that 
figure, radiant with charity and self-sacrifice; 
but either immemorial ignorance had so thoroughly 
stunted their minds that they could not understand 
what they heard, or their brutal natures wilfully 
twisted his words into an encouragement to dis- 
possess their landlords by fair means or foul. So, 
unfortunately, this loving mission of goodwill and 
progress became a firebrand throughout the land. 

Early in the year it had been officially an- 
nounced that in the autumn the Cardinal-Arch- 
bishop of Milan would convene a Synod of the 
archdiocese. All the Bishops of the ancient and 


224 Monsignor Villarosa 

glorious Ambrosian Rite were invited to attend, 
expose their views concerning the spiritual wel- 
fare of their flocks, and then present corporately 
to the Holy Pontiff their several desiderata. 
Cardinal-Archbishop Baraldi, who had conceived 
this plan, was a small, insignificant man, who 
certainly did not look in the least a Prince of the 
Church. Homely in his aspect, and still more 
homely in his manners and speech, strongly 
flavored by his native Emilian dialect, he had 
risen with extraordinary luck and rapidity from 
Curato of a little village in the Western Apennines 
to Professor of Casuistics in the Seminario of 
Bologna, then to Bishop of Cesena, and finally 
to his present exalted position. The very few 
who knew him intus et in cute maintained that 
luck had really very little to do with Cardinal 
Baraldi’s career; the wonderful flexibility of his 
spine, and intelligence, combined with an over- 
powering and remorseless ambition, had enabled 
him to wriggle, invincibly and untiringly, higher 
and higher. Moreover, under his craftily calcu- 
lated mask of homeliness, Baraldi dissimulated a 
diplomatic capacity of the most dangerous class; 
for him dissimulation and prevarication were fine 
arts, and by nature he ignored the meaning of 
scruples or of conscience. His colleagues of the 


A Scheming Prelate 225 

Sacro Collegio eyed him dubiously, as they had 
yet been unable to '‘make him out,” but treated 
him, nevertheless, with the greatest consideration, 
because it was whispered that he had by no means 
a bad chance at the Conclave, which every one 
was agreed must occur at no distant date. 

Of course. Monsignor Villarosa had been invited 
to the Synod, and had dutifully accepted, though 
his retiring disposition did not make this accept- 
ance an unmixed pleasure. But in the interval 
between the invitation to the Synod and its con- 
vening, the name of Villarosa, once practically 
unknown, had been repeatedly thrust into the 
most brilliant limelight by the press, and so the 
general public in Milan became mildly excited 
about his visit, and not unnaturally expected to 
hear a sermon from the newly discovered “great 
man.” This, however, did not suit Baraldi in 
the least; it was bad enough that no one could 
withhold the right of a Bishop to be present at a 
Synod of the archdiocese, but he would take pre- 
cautions “to muzzle this dangerous demagogue.” 
The Archbishop had certainly no sympathy for the 
peasant class from which he himself had sprung; 
he knew that the landlords, representing the 
money-bags, and therefore disposing of the sword, 
had ever been the natural allies of the Church, 

IS 


226 Monsignor Villarosa 

and, furthermore, Conte Meravigli was the Car- 
dinal’s bosom friend, so that the venom and hatred 
which had rankled in “Vinegar’s” heart ever 
since the memorable encounter with the Bishop 
of Varese at Taino had full occasion of expressing 
itself. The vicious nobleman painted his enemy 
as black as his cutting tongue could make it, and 
poured into the prelate’s receptive ears the whole 
history of Villarosa’s past life, distorted, of course, 
by blind partisanship and prejudice, so that Baraldi 
firmly decided that, at any price, such an objec- 
tionable personage must not be allowed to speak. 

It was, however, no easy task. The Cardinal 
was fully aware of the fact that it would be highly 
impolitic to ignore him from the outset; he knew 
that many of the lower clergy throughout the 
archdiocese swore by his name, and that, for the 
moment at least, the rural masses of Lombardy 
considered him almost a saint. He therefore 
must move with great prudence and circumspec- 
tion, playing his cards in such a way that Mon- 
signor Villarosa himself must be induced to abstain 
voluntarily from playing any prominent part in 
the Synod, and, above all, from addressing the 
assembled prelates on contentious subjects. As 
to the “set” sermons, he would prepare a trick 
that could not fail. 


A Scheming Prelate 227 

When the Synod was convened, Monsignor 
Villarosa was deep in his mission of explaining 
the duties of citizenship to the peasants, and 
accordingly very loath to leave his diocese even 
for a few days, but he always was most conscien- 
tious in the fulfilment of his pastoral duties, and 
a fervent, though silent, upholder of the historical 
rights and privileges of the Ambrosian Church, 
so when the day came, accompanied by Don 
Paolino, Monsignore left Casbenno to spend a 
week in Milan. The old Palazzo Villarosa, hidden 
away in the remote and now unfashionable pur- 
lieus of Via Cappuccio, that small and deserted 
Faubourg St. Germain of the Lombard metro- 
polis, had been rented out in flats ever since the 
late Contessa had decided to reside permanently 
at Corgeno, and the small apartment, which had 
been reserved for the owner^s use, consisted of 
three or four shabbily furnished and musty rooms. 
In spite of Don Paolino's insistence that a good 
hotel would be a more fitting abode for his Excel- 
lency, they came directly from the railway- 
station to the old Palazzo, and soon after drove 
to the Arcivescovado to call upon the Cardinal, 
as ecclesiastical etiquette demanded. 

Cardinal Baraldi, as soon as Villarosa’s name 
was announced, rushed to greet him in the gor- 


228 Monsignor Villarosa 

geous Sala degli Arazzi, the beautiful hall of the 
State apartments; it was a sight to behold how 
the prelate’s commonplace expression instantly- 
assumed the sweetest and most delighted of smiles, 
how with breathless anxiety he pushed aside the 
several members of his household to be the first 
on the threshold, and how he greeted his visitor 
with cordial affection, subtly tinged with deference 
and admiration. He seemed most unwilling to 
drop Monsignore’s delicate hand, and held it 
caressingly in both of his, which, in spite of all 
treatment, obstinately refused to become soft 
and white as befitted a Cardinal. With the fer- 
vor of a devoted disciple, he escorted the much- 
fiattered Villarosa to his private study, and made 
him occupy the most comfortable arm-chair in 
the room. It would have been more than evident 
to any one that the simple, transparent soul of 
the Bishop was no match for his wily antagonist; 
in the first place, he did not consider him in that 
light, and, again, he was the last man in the world 
to suspect hidden motives, or, even when suspect- 
ing them, to know how to fence and prevaricate. 
Then his vanity, his peche mignon^ had been deli- 
cately tickled, and this prepared him to accept 
blindly all that the Cardinal would propose. So, 
after a few irrelevant remarks about things in 


A Scheming Prelate 229 

general, Baraldi boldly broached the subject which 
interested him most. 

“And now, my most reverend friend,*' the 
Cardinal began in a confidential yet earnest tone, 
“let me tell you how thankful I am for your early 
visit, as I am sorely in need of your wisdom to 
settle some momentous questions concerning our 
Synod. Of course, as senior Bishop, Nodari of 
Mantova is entitled to celebrate the first Ponti- 
fical Mass in the Duomo, and has set his mind 
upon preaching upon that occasion, though how 
the doddering old man, who, by the by, never 
could preach a decent sermon even in his palmiest 
days, will be able to fill the card Heaven only 
knows. But it is of no use; Nodari will not relin- 
quish his rights, and our one consolation is that 
nobody can possibly hear what he may have to 
say.” 

There the Cardinal stopped as if waiting for a 
reply. Monsignore obediently took up the cue, 
but ever charitable, interposed hopefully that 
the Holy Ghost might inspire Nodari on such an 
occasion, a solution accepted by the Cardinal with 
a resigned but slightly sceptical shrug of his 
shoulders. Then Baraldi went on: 

“The second Pontifical fimction in the Basilica 
of St. Ambrogio was yours by right, as the second 


230 Monsignor Villarosa 

in seniority, and all the clergy and laity of this 
great city — myself more than any — anticipated 
with joy and reverence the privilege of listening 
to the inspired teachings of your apostolic elo- 
quence . . . for, let me tell you without wounding 
your modesty, the whole world has been thrilled 

by your pastorals and sermons, but ” Here 

he sighed dolorously, with an expression of 
dejected embarrassment, as if coerced by dire 
necessity to divulge an objectionable secret. 
Monsignore patiently waited for the rest of the 
sentence, so Baraldi had to go on : “I am in a quan- 
dary and no mistake ! While I still counted upon 
Nodari being unable or unwilling to expose his 
nonentity. Cardinal Zerboni of Hologna (and you 
know what that means) wrote requesting as a 
very particular favor that his Benjamin, Bishop 
Castelli of Pavia, should be given the second 
sermon, and I promised, fully expecting that you 
would replace old Nodari in the Duomo, so now 

’’ The Cardinal stuttered, then hesitated, 

then finally looked blankly at Monsignore, almost 
as invoking his help. 

Instantly Villarosa rose to the bait. He had a 
very hazy idea of the relative importance of Car- 
dinal Zerboni, for he knew nothing, about the 
fluctuations of influence at the Vatican, but if he 


A Scheming Prelate 


231 


could help in any way this charming man, even 
at his own disadvantage, he would do so at once, 
not coimting that to preach in St. Ambrogio was 
an ordeal he did not relish overmuch. So with a 
charming smile and quite cheerfully he set to rest 
the anxiety of the scheming prelate by saying: 
“Your .Eminence must not worry a moment about 
this affair; to be sure, I am only too pleased to 
serve you in any way I can. Let Monsignor 
Castelli preach in my stead; I am delighted that 
it should be so, and, furthermore, I need not 
preach at all, and in this way your Eminence can 
satisfy everybody.” 

Cardinal Baraldi, seeing that his victim was 
playing into his hand, allowed himself the luxury 
of overdoing his part; he became indignant at 
the thought of the expectant crowds, and of him- 
self, above all, deprived of the intellectual and 
spiritual treat of listening to a Villarosa, and went 
so far as to insist that, Zerboni or no Zerboni, the 
Bishop of Pavia must be set aside, and apparently 
wrought himself into such a storm of excitement 
that poor Monsignore had to pacify and wheedle 
him into accepting his own self-effacement as the 
wisest plan. 

This topic being satisfactorily disposed of, the 
Cardinal airily referred to the crucial subject: the 


232 Monsignor Villarosa 

matters to be brought before the Synod. He 
began complaining about the unavoidable limita- 
tion of the time allowed for their session and the 
enormous mass of material brought before them, 
then he laimched into a verbose and confused 
enumeration of the proposed themes. Villarosa 
listened patiently and attentively, but was struck 
at once by the puerile futility of the whole affair, 
which seemed to hinge exclusively upon empty 
details of form or disciplinary particulars, emptier 
still. There was not a ray of light and life in the 
whole drab picture, nothing uplifting or inspiriting, 
not an attempt to solve one of the many grave 
problems facing the Church, and Monsignore’s 
heart sank within him. 

When he was able to place a word he diffidently 
remarked: “Does not your Eminence think that 
many of these themes are superannuated or of 
secondary importance? For example, the use of 
bicycles by priests or the size of the amice are 
subjects that could well be ignored, when such 
questions as the reform of the seminaries or the 
part priests might take in social questions, and 
their co-operation in the uplift of the lower classes, 
are right before us ” 

The Cardinal, with a condescending little laugh, 
interrupted him: “Sixteen Bishops out of twenty- 


A Scheming Prelate 233 

one have invited me to present the bicycle prob- 
lem, and the size of the amice has been called to 
my attention by his Holiness himself, who, as 
you know, greatly desires the integrity of the old 
ritual, so I fail to see how these subjects can be 
held as superannuated or secondary. Further- 
more, I have no choice ; the calendar of the Synod 
is complete, and I cannot possibly drag in other 
matters, except, of course, by a special command 
of his Holiness.” Baraldi was for a moment 
silent, then, eyeing Monsignore very closely, he 
added in a low, confidential voice: “Certain topics, 
my worthy friend, are best severely left alone for 
the good of all parties concerned.” Then, lower- 
ing his voice still more, almost to a whisper, as if 
fearing that the walls should have ears, he went 
on: “Between you and me, let me tell you that if 
I had the power things would be very different, 
but as things are now I am helpless, absolutely 
helpless . . . and must throw myself upon your 
generosity.” 

Monsignore stared at him in undisguised 
astonishment; then, as ever impulsive when ap- 
pealed to in this fashion, he hastily said: “I can- 
not imagine in what way I can be of any help to 
your Eminence, but, whatever it may be, please 
command me freely.” 


234 Monsignor Villarosa 

Baraldi drew a heavy sigh, as a man liberated 
from a tremendous oppression, then murmured 
impressively: “May God bless you for your noble 
act. I foresaw, yet feared, your answer to my 
entreaties . . . though from one so wise and 
saintly as yourself ... it was wicked to doubt. 
Pardon me! I am happy now. We will let 
sleeping dogs lie . . . for the present . . . and 
postpone our concerted action on those great 
schemes which stand nearest our hearts to 
a better day. Till then I count upon your 
silence.’' 

Monsignor Villarosa was completely at sea, 
and shook hands in the warmest manner with the 
astute diplomat, promising to be silent upon he 
did not know what subjects. As a matter of fact 
he had never anticipated bringing before the Synod 
the agrarian problem, as he considered this a purely 
civil and social question, separate and distinct 
from the spiritual activities of the Church. Ac- 
cording to him, the clergy must refrain from 
meddling in the management of the State, its real 
mission being to train the people up to the highest 
possible standard of Christian citizenship. He 
supposed that this educational work would be 
enthusiastically endorsed by the Synod, impeni- 
tent old dreamer that he was, and so had promised 


A Scheming Prelate 235 

to be silent in deference to the Cardinal, who, 
supposedly, had his good reasons. 

Baraldi rose, as was his prerogative, to dismiss 
his visitor; now quite sure of success, the schemer 
clinched matters by saying to his victim: ^‘I am 
a most busy man, with but little time for relaxa- 
tion or study. I have here your wonderful vol- 
ume of which the whole scientific world is ringing, 
and as soon as I can study it with the attention 
it deserves we will discuss it together!’^ 

And so, greatly pleased and flattered. Mon- 
signore left, escorted to the stairs by the Cardinal, 
still more profuse in his attentions. 

However, as soon as the cab had started Don 
Paolino inflicted a jolt upon Monsignore’s con- 
tentment. That worthy had waited for his 
master in the hall, and the dandified ecclesiastics 
of the Cardinal’s household, after exchanging a 
few words with the rough-looking country priest, 
had soon tired of his uncouthness, and then for- 
gotten his presence, so they chatted freely and 
carelessly about the approaching Synod. Don 
Paolino had not lost one word, and repeated 
textually the whole conversation to Monsignore; 
most of it was trivial tittle-tattle, to which Villa- 
rosa paid no great attention, but he sat up when 
he heard that “it had been an awful job to force 


236 Monsignor Villarosa 

old man Nodari to come to the Synod and preach 
the first sermon.” This, of course, was in fiagrant 
contradiction to the Cardinal’s version of the 
situation, and Monsignore gravely blamed Don 
Paolino for listening to and repeating such ground- 
less falsehoods. 

The Synod turned out to be, as Villarosa ex- 
pected, an uninteresting and merely formal cere- 
mony. Villarosa celebrated the Pontifical service 
in the Basilica of St. Ambrogio, before an im- 
mense crowd. A large number of men who ha- 
bitually never frequented churches, even militant 
Socialists, came to see and hear “the celebrated 
Bishop of Varese”; so when another Bishop began 
a long and old-fashioned panegyric of the patron 
saint of Lombardy, hundreds left the church, 
disappointed and disgusted, and the lay papers 
commented upon this unexpected exclusion in a 
rather pointed tone. As to the proceedings of 
the Synod, Monsignore could not understand 
how prelates met to discuss seriously and 
at great length such utter rubbish, so, after 
being most diligent at the initial sessions, he 
soon was bored insupport ably, and rarely went 
to the meetings, missing entirely the three last 
ones. 

In the meanwhile Conte Meravigli was working 


A Scheming Prelate 237 

hard. The Synod must condemn unequivocally 
the agrarian agitation, and the part hitherto 
taken in it by the parish priests, thus inflicting 
a crushing blow upon Villarosa. Cardinal Baraldi 
having explained why the order to moot the sub- 
ject must come directly from Rome, Meravigli, 
with the co-operation of Cardinal Bredana, the 
all-powerful Lombard member of the Curia, 
succeeded in obtaining a Papal Rescript, which 
was timed to arrive the very last day of the Synod ; 
it demanded from it a clear expression of opinion 
upon the grave question. This written opinion, 
prepared long before, was voted unanimously and 
without discussion by the Bishops present, and 
incorporated in the so-called ‘‘Petition’' which 
was to be forwarded to his Holiness. It read: 
“And, furthermore, we humbly call the attention 
of the Holy Father to the obnoxious and im- 
christian activities of certain unworthy members 
of our Church who are sapping the very basis 
upon which the Christian world had for ever 
rested, and awakening in the Godfearing inhabit- 
ants of the fields sentiments fully in opposition 
to the immemorial teachings of the Church, in- 
stilling in them meekness, humility, and resigna- 
tion. And we, furthermore, humbly pray the 
Holy Father to silence these evil-minded and 


238 Monsignor Villarosa 

unworthy members of the Church, regardless of 
the position they may occupy.” 

No more direct and terrible blow could have 
struck Monsignor Villarosa, nor could the conspir- 
acy have been more cleverly or more venomously 
conceived. Having silenced him in anticipation, 
the deed was perfected when he could not raise 
his voice in self-defence. 

Monsignore, knowing that the Synod was 
practically ended, had decided that afternoon to 
pay his visit de conge to the Cardinal, and take an 
evening train to Varese in order to be back in 
Casbenno before night. Don Paolino had busied 
himself with the valises, and all was ready, when 
a newsboy passed hawking the evening papers, 
and vociferously proclaiming, *‘The Condemna- 
tion of Bishop Villarosa!” Don Paolino, who 
heard him from the courtyard, thought that some 
one must be crazy; he rushed out, pounced upon 
the frightened newsboy, and, flinging him a penny, 
wrenched a paper from his hands. The heavy 
headlines stared him in the face. A popular 
sheet of ultra-radical tendencies had obtained 
by some unexplained means a copy of the Synod's 
petition, and printed in extenso that part referring 
to the agrarian agitation. Don Paolino's grief, 
dismay, and anger passed all bounds; forgetting 


A Scheming Prelate 239 

his cloth, he rapped out a frightful imprecation, 
but stood where he was as petrified, struck by 
the appalling problem of facing Monsignore. 
What was going to happen when he heard of this 
disaster? In justice to the secretary’s faithful 
soul, it must be recorded that he never even 
thought of the hateful ‘‘I-told-you-so” he could 
present to his master; nothing but anxiety tor- 
mented him, and as he stood in helpless indecision 
he heard the voice of Monsignore asking aggriev- 
edly of the portinaio where on earth Don Paolino 
was hidden. 

Not finding words, Don Paolino rushed back 
into the lodge, and without a word thrust the 
paper into Monsignore’s hand. In fear and 
trembling he watched his master’s face as he 
quickly scanned the article. Monsignore went 
frightfully pale, then his eloquent eyes hashed an 
irresistible flame, his figure grew rigid, and sud- 
denly appeared, to the awed wonder of Don Paolino, 
taller and more majestic than ever before. Villa- 
rosa turned to the old portinaio and ordered briefly 
that a cab be summoned at once, then, seizing 
his secretary not too tenderly by the arm, broke 
into a harsh and mirthless laugh : 

^^You were right and I was wrong, old friend! 
I have been beautifully tricked . . . the meeting 


240 Monsignor Villarosa 

of Taino is bringing its fruits . . . but they have 
forgotten that my name is Guido Villarosa, and, 
as God is my judge, his Holiness will hear me 
. . . and then they will sing another tune! The 
battle is now on; truth and light must win, in 
spite of all. To begin with, I am going straight 
to tell Cardinal Baraldi what I think of him! 
You’ll see . . . you’ll see it is going to be a grand 
and beautiful fight . . . and we will win!” 

The feverish aggressiveness of Monsignore 
frightened and bewildered poor Don Paolino 
more than anything else; he instinctively realised 
that his beloved master was about to butt against 
a brick wall and be shattered in the imequal 
encounter. But there was no time to speak, 
almost none even to think, much less the possibil- 
ity of modifying this dangerous mood ; Monsignore, 
animated by a tremendous energy, with the scent 
of powder dilating his nostrils, was ready in a 
trice, impatiently waiting for the cab, into which 
he bundled Don Paolino before it had properly 
stopped, ordering the coachman to drive as fast 
as possible to the Arcivescovado. On the way, 
again, Don Paolino could not place a word ; Mon- 
signore, in a flurry of ill-repressed passion, kept 
up an unceasing fire of interjections about all that 
was going to happen, about his plans and pre- 


A Scheming Prelate 241 

visions, so there was not the possibility of edging 
in a word. But the secretary’s face became so 
expressive that Monsignore could not help noticing 
it. 

‘‘Do not fret, dear old friend,” he said with a 
return to his usual tenderness; “it will be all 
right in the end! I have never felt better nor 
stronger ... so do please smile . . . and look 
up, man, look up!” 

Don Paolino was going to reply, when the cab 
came abruptly to a halt before the entrance of 
the Arcivescovado, and Villarosa jumped out 
with all the agility of a yoimg man. 

Fate favored the Bishop. He ran up the monu- 
mental staircase just in time to encounter Cardinal 
Baraldi descending it with Conte Meravigli. 
The confederates were discussing with great 
satisfaction and gusto the success of their plot, 
though the Cardinal, always circumspect, re- 
gretted the precocious divulgation of the so-called 
“condemnation” of Villarosa, while Meravigli, 
bursting with gratified venom, gloated at the 
thought of the cruel wound suddenly and brutally 
inflicted upon his enemy. When they least 
expected it, they found themselves face to face 
with the man they had so cruelly deceived and 
injured. It was a dramatic moment; no one 


242 Monsignor Villarosa 

spoke, till Baraldi, a diplomat ever, bowed slightly 
and said in a honeyed voice: “It is too bad . . . 
I fear that I am losing the pleasure of your visit, 
Monsignor Villarosa!’' 

Villarosa disdained to follow this lead; he drew 
himself up to his full height, and in his clear, 
musical voice replied: “Equivocation is no longer 
needed, your Eminence, and I come to exercise 
my rights of appending a minority resolution to 
the Synod’s petition.” 

Baraldi, with subtle impertinence, asked if 
Monsignore had been present at the last meeting, 
and at the curt negative he smoothly replied: 
“Why, Monsignore, I hardly ought to remind you 
that the petition was approved by a imanimous 
vote, so that there cannot possibly be a minor- 
ity report when no minority exists.” And with 
this he indicated by a slight movement that the 
conversation was ended and that he wished to 
resume his descent. 

Then the “Villarosa temper” blazed forth 
irresistibly: “I have been deceived, shamefully 
tricked and deceived!” he exclaimed “by those 
Pharisees who are now defiling God’s own temple, 
and they triumph . . . but they will not prevail! 
Through His Vicar, Christ will scourge them once 
more out of His sanctuary, and if it cost me 


A Scheming Prelate 243 

my life, I, Guido Villarosa, will labor to that 
end!’’ 

With a sweeping gesture, which included the 
Cardinal and MeravigH, he was going to retrace 
his steps, when the latter, triumphant and furious 
at the same time, clamored violently after him: 
“Is not one lesson sufficient, you Bishop of the 
Red Shirt? We’U give you another and final 
one . . . don’t doubt it!” 

Monsignore smiled back with withering con- 
tempt, then in a penetrating voice which rang 
again in the vaulted staircase he cried: “Good- 
bye, Cardinal Baraldi; yoiu* hoimd is baying, but 
beware of the wounded Hon . . . he is stiU ahve ! ” 
And with the majesty of a king he passed slowly 
out of their sight. 


CHAPTER IX 


A CHARGE AND A HALT 

The journey back to Varese, only an hour in a 
luxurious electric train, was a very sad one indeed, 
its gloom being tempered, however, for Mon- 
signore by the unmistakable attitude of his 
numerous fellow-travellers. The news of the con- 
demnation of the Bishop of Varese, and the devi- 
ous fashion in which it had been brought about, 
had spread like wildfire all over Milan, and with 
very few exceptions Lombards of all parties re- 
sented the outrage perpetrated upon their illustri- 
ous compatriot. This feeling of the crowd was 
demonstrated by a general imcovering of heads, 
and by the low but distinct murmur of sympathy 
which ran through the crowd as Monsignor Villa- 
rosa wended his way to the train. This soothed 
his sorely wounded soul, but this feeling, unfor- 
tunately, strengthened his illusion that his country- 
men would stay by him to the end. 

As to Don Paolino he was utterly speechless and 
- 244 


245 


A Charge and a Halt 

shattered. From that terrible encounter at the 
Arcivescovado until after they had started he was 
more dead than alive. Suddenly recovering his 
senses, he exploded. In a low voice, because the 
carriage was crowded, but with tremendous ear- 
nestness, he reminded Monsignore of all his efforts 
to arrest ^‘that mad undertaking.” With the 
remarkable but rough common-sense of the 
Lombard hillman, he pointed out pitilessly how 
and why his master had placed himself in that 
cruel situation. Monsignore was too much a 
saint and a gentleman to know how to fence with 
those able scoundrels; if he had wished, in spite 
of this, to enter upon this conflict, he ought to 
have armed himself with the same weapons of 
deceit and unscrupulousness as his adversaries. 
What was now the outcome of it all? Nothing 
but a pitiful failure, nothing but disappointment 
and misery! It was a terribly hard price to pay, 
but it must be a lesson to Monsignore, and as he 
could still beat a retreat, he must do so at all 
costs. ^‘Believe me, my dear master, and follow 
at last my poor advice,” Don Paolino concluded. 
*‘As soon as you are back at home, write a nice 
letter to his Eminence the Cardinal, explaining 
how you spoke in a moment of comprehensible 
anger, but that, on second thoughts, and as be- 


246 Monsignor Villarosa 

comes an obedient priest, you bow to the will of 
the majority and beg to sign the petition as it 
stands. Stop your preaching to the peasants, 
beasts who will turn upon you at the first oppor- 
timity, and if they still wish to fight, let them do 
so alone ; live as you did before, serenely and peace- 
fully, and above all, for mercy's sake, do not 
dream of appealing down there'' and according 
to his custom, he repeatedly jerked his right thumb 
over his left shoulder. 

Monsignore, lost in his bitter thoughts, had 
vaguely listened to his secretary’s long oration, 
lulled to repose by the easy swing of the train. 
But this brazen proposal of abjuring for his own 
welfare the sacred mission which he firmly believed 
God Himself had entrusted to him, this shameless, 
though well-meant, advice to become a traitor to 
those who had confided to him all their hopes and 
aspirations, roused him as if suddenly struck in the 
face. Monsignore gripped with an iron clutch 
the arm of Don Paolino, and in a voice terrible 
because so low and intense he murmured into his 
ear: “If it were not you who were speaking, I 
would make you swallow every one of your words, 
priest and bishop though I am.” Then with one 
of his lightning changes his face lost its formid- 
able expression of ire, a smile cast over it a beau- 


247 


A Charge and a Halt 

tifiil ray of deathless faith and hope, and he 
continued softly: “Paolino, my son, your advice 
would no doubt be the best, for any one, but not 
for Guido Villarosa. You may be as wise as the 
serpent, but you libel both his Holiness and the 
peasants; the Vicar of Christ cannot but follow 
his Master, and the peasants, they love and trust 
me, and nothing can come between us. We are 
therefore invincible. The enemies of truth may 
have won to-day, but this will only make their 
final discomfiture more complete. So, Paolino, 
cheer up, and do not let me hear any more of your 
pitiful fears.’' In that moment the train stopped 
in the station of Varese, and Don Paolino could 
not insist on the subject. 

Monsignore indited at once his protest to Rome, 
and mailed copies of it to the Holy Congregation 
of the Regulars, to the Papal Cancelleria, and, 
personally, to his Holiness. It was an admirably 
lucid expose of the agrarian question, of the aims 
and intention of the reformers, and proved that 
the Synod had sentenced in a purely secular mat- 
ter over which it had no jurisdiction, or, conceding 
its right to sentence, it had done so with partisam 
spirit, in obvious contradiction with the law of 
Christ, invariably on the side of the poor and 
oppressed. He accordingly asked that the para- 


248 Monsignor Villarosa 

graph of the petition concerning the agrarian 
question should be expunged by the highest 
authority of the Church. Then, as if nothing 
untoward had happened, Monsignore took up the 
thread of his usual existence. He was, of course, 
aware that the jurisdictional machinery of the 
Vatican was proverbially slow in its movements, 
that his protest would reach its destination at 
the same time as, if not before, the Synod’s pe- 
tition, and that for many weeks no decision would 
be reached, so, considering the whole controversy 
still suh judice, he imperturbably continued his 
sermons to the various parishes of his diocese. 
Don Paolino in their private conversations fretted 
and fumed and predicted all sorts of misfortunes, 
but it was all wasted breath. And, what was 
still more dangerous, an aggressive tone developed 
itself unconsciously in Monsignore’s sermons: 
there was nothing definite or personal, of course, 
but a constant reminder of how the Israelites 
had to fight for the Promised Land, and the advice 
to keep their loins girded for the coming struggle. 
Highly imprudent words; as they could be, and 
were, construed as an incitation to open revolt. 

In the initial plan for the visit of all the parishes 
of the diocese, Castiglione-Olona, Conte Mera- 
vigli’s great estate and country seat, had, of course, 


249 


A Charge and a Halt 

been included. Don Paolino tried by all possible 
means in his power to prevent this visit, as he 
foresaw that it would envenom still more the 
hatred of the powerful landlord; he bullied the 
Curato of the village, a scared rabbit of a little 
man, afraid of his own shadow, into personally 
entreating the Bishop not to preach in Castiglione- 
Olona, on the plea that Conte Meravigli would 
wreak his revengeful fury upon the aforesaid 
Curato. The incensed Villarosa stormily re- 
minded the unhappy priest that as soldiers of 
Christ they must accomplish their duty, irrespect- 
ive of consequences, and the poor little fellow, 
more dead than alive, cowered in confusion, and, 
when dismissed, fled as fast as his trembling legs 
could take him. But this sermon at Castiglione 
was destined to produce consequences of moment- 
ous and almost tragical importance. 

The peasants of the large village of Castiglione 
and of the neighboring Lomazzo, of which Don 
Davide Capelletti was Curato, were, with few 
rare exceptions, tenant-farmers of Conte Mera- 
vigli. Ruled with a rod of iron by their master, 
they had not, as yet, participated in the general 
movement of the district, with the early exception 
in Lomazzo of the few dependents of Don Felice 
Ranzi, whom they had so effectively routed upon 


250 Monsignor Villarosa 

the day of his encounter with Monsignore on his 
way to Corgeno. But their sullen demeanor, 
their dark and scowling glances whenever they 
met the Conte, the fattore, or the overseers, their 
whispered conversations at dusk in the dark alleys 
were symptoms that a serious trouble was brewing. 
Meravigli, who from the very beginning had stead- 
fastly advocated violent repression, urging the 
Government to stifle the movement at its inception 
by intimating that a little blood-letting was the 
best remedy for the disease, heard of Villarosa's 
imminent visit, and, crazed by fear and fury, at 
last persuaded the Prefetto to be in readiness for 
this repression, but, as Fate willed it. Monsignor 
Villarosa suddenly anticipated his visit by twenty- 
four hours, and so, on that day, there was not even 
a single carabiniere in the village. 

In the church, packed almost to suffocation, 
Villarosa stepped on to the pulpit ; his pale, ascetic 
face, his commanding presence, the vague know- 
ledge of his personal enmity with their hated 
master struck the crowd with irresistible power. 
They did not cheer him, simply because they 
were in a church, but the murmur which ran 
through that mass of humanity was far more 
eloquent than any cheers. In a silence so perfect 
that the church might have been empty, Villarosa 


251 


A Charge and a Halt 

began to speak. A great orator always because a 
profoundly convinced one, his impromptu address 
was a sublime effort, far outshining his preceding 
sermons. The text, from Psalm xliii., could not 
have been more appropriate: “O send me Thy 
light and Thy truth: let them lead me: let them 
bring me imto Thy holy hill and to Thy taber- 
nacles.’^ He outlined in rapid and masterly 
strokes the battle they must win to attain the full 
understanding of the light and of the truth of God, 
how this understanding would never lead them if 
they did not practise to its fullest extent forget- 
fulness of self, if they did not love their brethren 
more than themselves, if they did not strive in- 
cessantly to elevate their minds and the minds 
of those around them from ignorance, prejudice, 
and superstition, if they did not labor together to 
become the best of citizens for the glory and great- 
ness of their beloved Italy. As he went on, 
carried away by the ardent flame of faith burning 
within him, his voice grew more penetrating and 
intense, till when he pictured the recompense of 
these long and patient strivings, when they would 
come into their own ‘*on the holy hill and in the 
tabernacles,” and painted in magnificent colors 
the greatness of their triumph and the happiness 
and dignity of their redemption, it soimded like 


252 Monsignor Villarosa 

a clarion proclaiming a wonderful victory. Not 
a sound disturbed the awed silence of the vast 
crowd at the end of the sermon, but when the 
Bishop solemnly intoned the “Veni, Creator 
Spiritus,” such a tremendous wave of melody 
rang through the old church that it seemed to 
rock in its very foundations. 

Villarosa’s improvisation was, no doubt, the 
very essence of spiritual truth, but he had com- 
mitted his usual mistake of believing that his 
audience could fully understand and appreciate 
his meaning. Of all he had told them, they only 
comprehended that Monsignore himself was urg- 
ing them on to fight for that great victory he had 
so vividly presented to them, and this victory, to 
their greedy and imtutored minds, meant nothing 
but material advantages and revenge upon those 
who had groimd them so long in the mire under 
an iron heel. Above all, they had been long upon 
the verge of open revolt: this sermon was the 
spark that started the conflagration. As the 
crowd poured out into the street, isolated cries 
of “Viva Villarosa!’' blended into one imiversal 
roar, then, at first almost timidly, but rapidly 
increasing in volume and fury, other cries of 
“ Morte a Meravigli I ” broke forth. In the shabby 
rectory the poor little Curato, trembling and 


253 


A Charge and a Halt 

blanched with fear, fell on his knees before Mon- 
signore imploring him to leave at once, as his 
departure would mean the immediate dispersion 
of the crowd. Don Paolino chimed in with the 
Curato, and Monsignore, though hating with all 
his soul to appear a coward, contemptuously 
consented to satisfy his host. So by a back way 
they drove off unseen, and the much troubled 
secretary could not help cooling his master's 
elation at the success of his sermon by casually 
asking whether it was not remarkable that Don 
Davide Capelletti, arch-mover of the Peasants’ 
League, whose parish was not a stone’s-throw 
from Castiglione, had not been present. 

In spite of the announcement of the Bishop’s 
departure, the crowds refused to scatter; the most 
infuriated among the peasants sedulously kindled 
the flame of insurrection, and soon loud cries of 
^‘To the Gastello!” were heard. A compact mass 
of men and women, with the flag of the local 
section of the Peasants’ League, rushed towards 
the Palazzo Meravigli. By a stroke of misfortune, 
the crowd met two of the most hated overseers, 
armed with shot-guns; these men arrogantly 
asked the reason of all this row, ordering the 
people to get home at once. With a howl of fury 
the mob seized the two men before they could use 


254 Monsignor Villarosa 

their weapons, wrenched the guns from their 
hands, broke them to fragments, and beat the 
guards so unmercifully that they lay in the gutter, 
bleeding and senseless. Conte Meravigli and his 
fattore from the grounds of the Palazzo heard the 
furious outcry and were just able to close the 
massive gate in the nick of time. Thus thwarted, 
the mob, with violent cries of hatred and derision, 
tore up the heavy cobblestones of the road and 
furiously bombarded the house, while the most 
heated attempted to tear the gates from their 
sockets. Green with rage and terror, Meravigli 
with his followers had to retreat and barricade 
themselves in the Palazzo. When in comparative 
safety, Meravigli took to the telephone, and, 
after several frantically unavailing attempts, 
managed to call up the Prefetto himself, breath- 
lessly imploring him to save their lives, as two of 
his men had already fallen victims to the mur- 
derous rebels. But after a while the crowd 
grew tired of uselessly stoning a blank wall and 
dispersed. 

When a couple of hours later magistrates with 
carabinieri and police hurriedly arrived upon the 
scene, they found the village deserted and as 
silent as death, the houses closed and barred, and 
did not find a soul in the street. The magistrates 


255 


A Charge and a Halt 

were provided with a decree of dissolution of the 
local section of the Peasants’ League, as being an 
association dangerous to public order, and of 
warrants against each of the members of its 
Board, charged with conspiracy, armed riots, and 
attempted murder. Not one of the accused men 
had personally taken part in the uprising, as 
though in perfect sympathy and understanding 
with the rioters, they had with careful shrewdness 
kept far from their activities, as they well imder- 
stood that they would be the first to be accused. 
With great dispatch and thoroughness the bare 
room in which the section met was raided, every 
scrap of paper collected and packed, and then, at 
a given signal, the agents broke into the several 
houses of these members of the Board, handcuffed 
the terrified men, not without handling them 
very roughly, and, amidst the yelling women and 
howling children, dumped their prisoners into 
waiting automobiles and rushed them full speed 
to the prison in Varese. 

The news of the “uprising of Castiglione-Olona ” 
spread like wildfire all over the country, and the 
Conservative press, tied hand and foot to the 
landed interests, virtdently attacked Monsignor 
Villarosa as directly responsible for the drama, 
going so far as to counsel the Government to take 


256 Monsignor Villarosa 

measures for the immediate impeachment of the 
principal culprit. The anarchists, always pre- 
pared to spread their bloody propaganda, went 
secretly from village to village instigating the 
masses to reprisals and playing upon their native 
greed, so that nearly all over the district the 
peasants broke suddenly loose from the control of 
their parish priests and paraded through the streets 
with threatening cries of Death to our masters!’’ 
while incendiary fires of ricks and bams broke 
out in several places. The peasants soon took 
up the watchwords of “Liberation of the Board 
of Castiglione or general strike,” and the Govern- 
ment, in great haste, sent detachments of troops 
throughout the province. 

Poor Monsignore, in those terrible days, was 
ascending his Calvary alone. He^ saw with un- 
speakable agony the whole of his luminous dream 
of redemption and progress crumble to dust around 
him, leaving him naked and disarmed in the sight 
of his enemies. Estranged from his beloved 
nephew, whose presence and tenderness might 
have soothed the bitterness of this darksome hour, 
he could not even turn to Don Paolino for conso- 
lation and sympathy ; the good and devoted 
secretary lacked the delicacy of touch necessary 
to treat the now morbidly sensitive soul of his 


257 


A Charge and a Halt 

master. In his heart, Monsignore recognised 
that it would be imprecedented for the Roman 
Curia not to approve the sentiments of such a 
large majority of Bishops, and that consequently 
his spirited attack against the misrule of the great 
landowners was only a forlorn hope, without a 
chance of success. 

The violent language of the Conservative press 
and the prosecution it invoked from the Govern- 
ment did not touch him, but he knew that the 
venom it distilled would irreparably poison the 
love and sympathy of his fellow-citizens, who 
always detested attacks on private property. 
Then, and this was the bitterest thrust of all, he 
saw that the peasants, whom he had idealised as 
the future backbone and sinew of his coimtry, 
were broken reeds, cankered to the very roots by 
malignity, greed, egoism, and ignorance, ready to 
be wafted away from their true friends at the 
first call of those who knew how to awaken the 
brutal appetites of their degenerate souls. And, 
underlying this ceaseless rush of agonising thoughts, 
deeply riven in his conscience ever since his 
encounter with Delia, there was the awful doubt 
that he had ever purposely and criminally closed 
his ears and eyes to the eternal verities of life, 
and that his narrow and formal creed was 


258 Monsignor Villarosa 

nothing but a pitiful travesty of the Divine 
truth. 

Only one hope remained to him in his desola- 
tion. He trusted in the goodness and wisdom of 
his Holiness; the Pope’s open countenance, his 
kindly eyes, the fact that he himself came from 
peasant stock, all he had heard of his homely, 
placid, yet far-seeing kindness and impartiality, 
gave Monsignore ample reason to centre his hopes 
in a direct and personal appeal to the Pontiff. 
The more he pondered upon the painful problems 
before him, the more a plan of defending his case 
personally in Rome took form and consistence in 
his mind. The coincidence that it was nearly 
time he should pay his formal visit ad limina 
Petri furnished an excellent excuse for the journey, 
and though Monsignore never mentioned his 
intention to any one, he never ceased thinking 
about it. 

The agrarian crisis was becoming every day 
more acute and numerous symptoms indicated 
that something serious was going to happen; in 
many villages, riots, of no great importance it is 
true, had taken place, and a number of arrests 
had been made during the forcible dispersion of 
the rioters. Up to that moment the peaceful 
little city of Varese had escaped from all disturb- 


259 


A Charge and a Halt 

ance, although it had been more than once an- 
nounced that the peasants had the intention of 
coming in great numbers to demand the instant 
liberation of the detained members of the Board 
of the Castiglione League; nothing happened, 
however, so the threat was considered only as an 
empty rumor and no precautions taken. But, 
unexpectedly, the night before the usual monthly 
market, huge crowds of peasants began to pour 
in on all sides, much to the uneasiness of the local 
authorities, who immediately communicated by 
telephone with the Prefetto in Milan, and asked 
for troops to reinforce their scanty town police, 
helplessly outnumbered ; the military commander, 
though the forces at his disposal had been greatly 
depleted by the many detachments stationed all 
over the rural districts, rushed by special train 
to Varese a squadron of horse artillery, without 
their guns, of course. By seven in the morning, 
more than ten thousand men, women, and child- 
ren packed the broad market field, and their 
numbers were growing each moment by the arrival 
of new crowds from the more immediate neigh- 
borhood. This dense mass of humanity was 
unusually sullen and silent, and obviously not 
come to trade, so the boothkeepers, seeing that 
there was no business doing, and probabilities of 


26 o Monsignor Villarosa 

loss and damage, soon closed up shop and retired. 
Police and mounted artillerymen endeavored, 
with great patience but not much success, to keep 
the crowd on the move, and so nothing untoward 
happened for a while. 

That same day Villarosa was to celebrate an 
annual function in the cathedral, and, always 
punctual in the fulfilment of his canonical duties, 
he started from Casbenno in the closed landau, as 
it was a chilly, bleak, and threatening morning. 
Don Paolino was struck by the suffering expres- 
sion of his master’s emaciated face, the ashen 
pallor of which intensified the pathetic wistful- 
ness of his eyes, now seeming abnormally large. 
As he narrowly watched Monsignore, wearily 
sitting back in his comer, for the first time the 
faithful fellow was assailed by the appalling pre- 
monition that the master whom he loved so deeply 
had been marked as his own by the Reaper. With 
all the imconcem he could muster, he inquired 
whether anything ailed his Excellency, insisting 
that they should return home at once, send for 
Dr. Sandri, and advise Arciprete Sidoli that 
Monsignore could not be present at the function 
because indisposed. With a wan little smile, and 
a pitiful attempt to appear cheerful. Monsignore 
dismissed the proposition, remarking that he would 


26 i 


A Charge and a Halt 

not give Sidoli the satisfaction of insinuating that 
Monsignor Bishop was wise in playing sick at 
that time. He added serenely: “I’ll stick to it 
to the end, Paolino, my son, and then rest . . . 
rest in peace ... do not fear ... it is all for 
the best,” and so the carriage went on upon its 
way. 

At the outskirts of the town, just when turning 
into the usual street, the carriage was halted by a 
delegato of police, who, hat in hand, informed 
Monsignore that he had strict orders not to allow 
any vehicular traffic in that direction, as the 
Piazza del Mercato was jammed with people and 
it was safer to abstain from all that could create 
confusion. He directed the coachman to take 
another and more devious route, and bowed him- 
self respectfully away, while Monsignore, who had 
listened to what he said with no little concern, 
started visibly as he recognised in the escort of 
the delegato a soldier in the black and yellow 
uniform of Guido’s regiment. 

As they drove through the streets, the number 
of peasants increased very rapidly, till, when they 
finally arrived into the main street, a narrow, 
crooked, old-fashioned thoroughfare, lined on each 
side with low arcades, it was so thick with human- 
ity that it became impossible to proceed otherwise 


262 Monsignor Villarosa 

than at a snairs pace. The trolley-line which 
ran through it, with its heavy cars, impeded still 
more the circulation as during their passage the 
crowds were obliged to pile up on the sides the 
best they could. This crowd was almost exclu- 
sively composed of peasants who had come from 
all parts of the diocese, and they all promptly 
recognised the well-known green liveries of the 
Villarosa equipage; but only a few, a very few, 
uncovered their heads as the carriage passed 
slowly by, while the faces of all retained their 
hostile and sullen expressions. In the last sur- 
vival of his innocent vanity, poor Monsignore 
perhaps had for a moment the hope that those 
for whom he had labored and suffered so much 
would greet him once more with their enthusi- 
astic cheers. But no! even a large group of his 
own tenants of Corgeno stared unseeingly at him 
and did not vouchsafe one sign of recognition. 
So, sadder and bitterly mortified, as the carriage 
came to a standstill before the side entrance of 
the cathedral he disappeared hurriedly within the 
semi-opened portal. 

In the meanwhile, the crowds occupying the 
Piazza del Mercato grew gradually more refrac- 
tory and less willing to obey the directions of the 
police, and opposed, by sheer weight of numbers. 


263 


A Charge and a Halt 

a passive yet insurmountable resistance to the 
efforts of the troops. With admirable patience 
the mounted artillerymen kept their spirited 
mounts from trampling upon the women and 
children, seemingly disposed to get purposely 
under the hoofs of the horses. Suddenly an 
incident occurred which precipitated the unavoid- 
able outbreak: the delegate, directing the police in 
that section, recognised, sneaking through the 
crowd, a dangerous anarchist against whom a 
warrant of arrest had long been pending. In- 
stantly he pointed him out to his agents, and at 
the head of a dozen of them made a dash for the 
man ; to reach him, he had to force his way through 
the dense crowd, and at once a furious struggle 
was raging. The peasants, imagining that they 
were wantonly attacked, offered a stubborn 
resistance; blows were freely exchanged, women 
and children howled and shrieked, that terrible 
weapon, the falcetto, a sort of heavy pruning-knife 
which the Lombard hillman invariably carries 
hanging from his belt, began to flash forth, and, 
in self-defence, the police drew their revolvers. 
However no blood was shed, and the policemen, 
much battered and bruised, managed to arrest the 
anarchist and some of the most infuriated around 
him. Forming a compact knot of agents around 


264 Monsignor Villarosa 

their prisoners, they retreated slowly towards the 
jail. Instantly the cries of ‘ ‘ Molla ! molla ! mean- 
ing “Let them go!*' so often heard as a sinister 
forenmner of bloody riots, broke forth violently 
from the crowd, now turned into one seething, 
howling mass. The few artillerymen, isolated 
and helpless, were swept away as if by an over- 
powering tide; a thick hailstorm of stones which 
no human being could withstand struck the body 
of agents with their charges, so that they were 
compelled to abandon the kicking and struggling 
prisoners and to seek safety in precipitous flight. 
Elated by this success, an unanimous cry of “To 
the jail!” broke from the mob, and in one tumul- 
tuous column they headed for the main street. 

This thoroughfare was even more crowded and 
impassable than when Monsignore’s carriage had 
crossed it, but the passage of the trolley-cars had 
unaccountably not been stopped, and this was a 
source of growing irritation to the crowd; one of 
these cars, though advancing by inches, knocked 
down a loutish and ragged youth, evidently a 
jail-bird, who with some confederates was pur- 
posely standing on the track, yelling insults to 
the motorman. Instantly a roar of fury broke 
from the mob, now prodigiously augmented by 
the dense column of infuriated rioters coming from 


265 


A Charge and a Halt 

the Piazza del Mercato ; in a second the passengers 
were kicked and cuffed out of the car, some ladies 
not excepted, while the unfortunate motorman 
and conductor were so ferociously mauled that 
their lives were despaired of. The mob, worked 
up into a state of frenzy, rapidly smashed the 
car and succeeded in overturning it crosswise, 
so that it effectively blocked the street. 

Meanwhile, the dispersed police had reorgan- 
ised, and now faced the much more serious job of 
clearing the street; they charged the crowd with 
great resolution, but the rioters were protected 
by the improvised barricade, and under the con- 
tinual hail of stones the agents were unable to 
make any progress. 

Revolvers barked here and there, and, none too 
soon, a squadron of mounted artillerymen galloped 
into view; the officer in command gave an order, 
and the first bugle-call to disperse, according to 
the Riot Act, rang out loudly. The mob had 
stopped the stoning, and, understanding that a 
cavalry charge was threatened, as by a preorgan- 
ised arrangement, pushed rapidly to the front a 
mass of women and children, in the hope that the 
troops would hesitate to gallop them down. Then 
the second call of the bugle sounded menacingly 
in the silence which had succeeded to the mad 


266 Monsignor Villarosa 

uproar; a brief, resonant command from the 
officer and a hundred sabres flashed simultane- 
ously out of their scabbards. A breathless mo- 
ment of suspense ensued, rendered even more awful 
by the apparition of a second squad of artillerymen 
on foot, under the porticoes, with their muskets 
at the ready. It was clear now that the troops 
had precise orders to fire, and in that narrow 
street the execution of the order would have been 
appalling. 

In that moment. Monsignor Villarosa, having 
imparted the last Benediction, was descending 
from the High Altar of the empty cathedral. He 
saw around him the eager and anxious faces of 
the Canons, as they whispered excitedly among 
themselves, and his arch-enemy, Arciprete Sidoli, 
covertly indicating him and mournfully shaking 
his head. Though absorbed in his religious duties, 
the confused but violent rumors of the street had 
reached his ears, and Monsignore guessed that 
something very grave was going on outside, some- 
thing of which Sidoli was throwing the responsi- 
bility upon his shoulders. Pausing at the bottom 
of the altar steps, he beckoned imperiously to the 
Arciprete, and in clear tones asked him what was 
going on. 

“A revolution, your Excellency,” was the reply; 


A Charge and a Halt 


267 


^‘the troops are about to fire on the crowd of 
peasants, just in front of the cathedral! There 
are barricades, and ” 

Monsignore turned round to the Canons, his 
face agleam with intrepid faith and enthusiasm, 
and in his most sonorous and musical voice he 
exclaimed: “Let us at once to oiu: posts, my 
brothers, to stop with our own bodies, if needed, 
this awful fratricide. Open wide the portals of 
the cathedral and follow me.” 

In his magnificent vestments, the heavy jewelled 
mitre on his head, the pastoral crosier in his hand, 
he rapidly led the way, followed by the terrified 
Canons, who, shaking with fear, were of course 
forced to obey. 

Down in the main street, not more than thirty 
yards away, the sharp, imperious notes of the 
bugle blared forth for the third time. It was the 
signal for the impending charge, and Monsignore 
hurried as much as his attire would allow him, so 
that he came upon the scene, an imposing yet 
highly pathetic figure, just at the instant when, at 
a sharp order of their officer, the artillerymen 
started at a hand gallop towards the swaying mass 
of women. Between them and the troops there 
was a clear space of about a hundred yards, and 
in this space Monsignore came unconcernedly 


268 Monsignor Villarosa 

to a halt, while the Canons, out of sheer panic, 
in the fatuous hope of getting out of the line of 
fire, sank upon their knees around him. The 
squadron came on, now at full gallop, thundering 
over the cobblestones, with the officer bending 
low on his saddle at the head. Then Monsignore, 
standing as if to force physically the contending 
parties asunder, lifted high above his head his 
outstretched palms, in an attitude so noble, so 
impressively commanding, so intrepid, that every 
single person in that vast crowd, though excited 
by unbridled passions, felt the influence of his 
magnetic power. The artillerymen, however, had 
not checked their charge, and the officer was al- 
most upon Monsignore, when he was heard to 
scream frantically, “Halt!” while, with a hercu- 
lean effort, he reined back his rearing steed on to 
its haunches. The impetus was so great that, 
despite his promptness, the horse before coming to 
a halt brushed against Monsignore^s shoulder, 
making him stagger back as if about to fall, but 
the officer was off his saddle with a mighty boimd, 
and caught the old gentleman in his arms, passion- 
ately clasping him to his breast. 

What ensued is better imagined than described : 
the artillerymen, at the sight of their commander 
supporting this magnificent apparition, inexplica- 


269 


A Charge and a Halt 

bly risen in front of them as if out of some Golden 
Legend of another age, halted and presented 
sabres, while the crowd of peasants, stricken by 
some imexplained and superstitious panic, gave 
one mighty inarticulate roar, and fell prone upon 
their knees. For a short moment Villarosa 
stood proudly towering above this vast mass of 
humanity, humbled and vanquished by the irre- 
sistible power of his great soul. That was really 
his apotheosis, the crowning instant of his life, 
and a last great wave of gratified pride surged in 
his breast as, before fainting in the arms of his 
Guido, he blessed in one comprehensive and loving 
gesture the populace and the troops. 

Then, as by enchantment, the crowds dispersed 
silently and so swiftly that the peaceful disappear- 
ance of thousands who had come evidently with 
the worst intentions partook of the miraculous. 
The general results of the day, however, were 
meagre and quite unsatisfactory to all parties. 
The landlords appreciated the fact that the back- 
bone of the revolt had not been broken, though 
immensely weakened by the failure of the great 
demonstration; the peasants, on their side, under- 
stood that they had no longer any chance against 
the now fully prepared landlords, and, in the over- 
powering selfishness of their individualism, each 


270 Monsignor Villarosa 

thought for his own person and welfare, unmind- 
ful of the solidarity necessary to the common 
good. The unsuccessful movement left behind an 
abyss between landlords and tenants deeper than 
ever, and germs of hatred and revenge that would 
unavoidably mature at some future time, but, at 
the moment, everything fell back into the statu 
quo ante: the pact of Taino was tacitly abandoned 
even by Meravigli and its other instigators, who 
unobtrusively and almost secretly made many 
concessions for the material betterment of their 
farmers; but likewise, the settlement of Corgeno, 
Monsignore’s pet scheme, remained a solitary 
and almost pathetic memento of what might have 
been. And finally, with the simultaneous dis- 
appearance of all anarchistic agitators from the 
district, complete, if not lasting, peace was re- 
established. 

And Monsignore? He found himself lying on a 
couch in a chemist’s shop, with his ‘‘boy” kneel- 
ing beside him, while Don Paolino, in a wild state 
of agitation, and Dr. Sandri, cool and collected, 
were plying him with restoratives; in the back- 
groimd, Sidoli and several Canons were looking 
on with more curiosity than genuine interest. 
As the old gentleman opened his eyes, his first act 
was to stroke lovingly the bowed head of his 


271 


A Charge and a Halt 

nephew; Guido, with an exclamation of joy and 
relief, seized those trembling fingers and kissed 
them repeatedly, but when Monsignore attempted 
to open his mouth and sit up, Sandri interfered 
decisively with his short, explosive sentences: 

“Talking prohibited. Absolutely. No more 
pranks to-day. No, sir. I’m going to take you 
home and put you to bed. Must try and patch 
up that heart! It’s no steam-engine. You, 
young warrior, go at once to your duty, or there’ll 
be trouble, I warrant! Left face, march!” and 
in spite of their resistance, he took Guido by the 
shoulders and walked him out of the small shop. 
Then turning abruptly to Don Paolino: “Stop 
that noise, and work for once in your life. I will 
take Monsignore by the arms. You take his 
feet. We carry him to the carriage ” 

Monsignore faintly but indignantly declared 
that he could and would walk, and, repulsing them 
both, staggered painfully to his feet. Sidoli and 
the Canons came forward in apparent concern 
and sympathy, but Monsignore, before they could 
open their mouths, curtly bowed to these men, 
and leaning heavily upon the arms of the doctor 
and Don Paolino, passed out to the waiting 
carriage. 

Slowly and with all precautions they drove to 


272 Monsignor Villarosa 

Casbenno. Sandri did not allow his patient to 
open his mouth, but easily anticipating what 
Monsignore wanted to know, he satisfied his 
curiosity: ^‘Yes, crowds all gone. Not a cat left. 
It was a crazy thing to do, your Excellency. The 
craziest and most magnificent thing I ever saw 
or heard of! Now better be nursed back to sanity 
and health. Yes, of course, the warrior will run 
down to Casbenno as soon as he can get a moment’s 
liberty. So be peaceful and consoled. I must 
set you on your legs again!” 

As to Don Paolino, he was absolutely speech- 
less; to his simple nature, elemental and primitive 
in its instincts, the heroism of his master passed 
all comprehension. It placed him in another and 
higher sphere, so immeasurably above the heads 
of them all, that he almost ceased to be human, 
and that the good secretary could have gone down 
on his knees before him in adoration. 

The episcopal villa was soon reached, and Mon- 
signore was put to bed, propped up by many pil- 
lows, as his breathing was still much labored. 
Sandri, who wished above all that there should be 
no talking or other causes of excitement, drew Don 
Paolino to the other end of the room, telling his 
patient to close his eyes and try to go to sleep. 
However, Monsignore did not even pretend to do 


273 


A Charge and a Halt 

so: his thoughts seemed clearer and more active 
than they had ever been before, and he suffered 
them to range freely upon all the questions which 
recently had so sorely tormented his conscience 
and his mind. He felt a curious uplift from the 
petty considerations of this earth, and his spirit 
nearer to the full comprehension of the Eternal 
Truth, yet with all his vanity evaporated, humble 
and confiding as a little child. He gazed out of 
his broad window upon the glorious semicircle of 
snowy moimtains which surround his native high- 
lands; after a gloomy day, the sun was setting in 
a golden glory, and as he gazed, his pensive expres- 
sion melted into one of surpassing tenderness. 
His eyes were arrested one moment by the chim- 
neys of the Villa Meroni, and a wonderful smile, 
which no one saw, hovered an instant upon his 
lips. Then, with a sigh of relief, he serenely closed 
his eyes. 

When Guido reached the villa at last, and with 
Don Paolino and Sandri came near the bed. Mon- 
signore was sleeping peacefully and still smiling 
in his sleep. On tiptoe they left the room. 

x8 


CHAPTER X 


A LETTER AND A JOURNEY 

The serious shock inflicted on Monsignore’s 
extremely sensitive nervous system had greatly 
concerned Dr. Sandri, as he feared its conse- 
quences upon the prelate’s heart, which revealed 
an ominous irregularity in its functions, demon- 
strated by his labored breathing. Accordingly 
he had given to all the members of the household, 
Guido included, the severest orders: Monsignore 
should exert himself as little as possible, especially 
talking, and, above all, he must not be subjected 
to emotions of any kind. That evening, when he 
found his uncle sweetly sleeping, Guido, of course, 
never thought of waking him, but, leaving the 
faithful Don Paolino on guard, had hurried im- 
mediately up to the Villa Meroni. 

Monsignore’s conduct during the riot had made 
an indelible impression upon the young officer’s 
heart; he saw the old prelate as if irradiated by 
a double halo of heroism ; a mere boy, he had won 
274 


275 


A Letter and a Journey 

the Star of ‘‘The Thousand”; old and delicate, 
to prevent an impending fratricidal strife, he had 
thrown himself almost in the very jaws of death. 
So he poured out to Delia the vivid description 
of all that had happened, and confided to her 
the history of his uncle’s past life, knowing that 
no one could appreciate its pathetic nobility more 
than herself. Delia, who had never forgotten 
the impression made upon her by Monsignore, 
and felt her heart going out to the much stricken 
man, was moved to her innermost soul, and ex- 
claimed: “And he a priest! Oh, the pity of it! 
If I could only go to him to nurse him and soothe 
him . . . for, believe me, Guido, those black- 
hearted wretches are doing their best to kill that 
brave soul!” 

The next morning when Monsignore awoke 
after a good night’s rest, the first thing he asked 
of Don Paolino was whether Guido was there, as 
he wished to see him immediately. The request, 
not to say the order, was so natural and at the 
same time so imperative that Don Paolino could 
but call the young officer from the next room, 
not omitting, however, to impress upon both of 
them the severe orders imparted by Dr. Sandri, 
who, he said, would make him responsible for 
whatever happened. But Monsignore was not 


276 Monsignor Villarosa 

going to allow any doctor to interfere with his 
firm resolution to have his beloved ‘‘boy” all to 
himself after their estrangement; he was hunger- 
ing for an intimate talk with him, so that’ all the 
caution preached by Don Paolino was of no avail, 
and the good secretary was compelled to leave 
the two alone. 

Uncle and nephew met now under very different 
conditions; Guido was no more the easy-going, 
immature lad of former days, and Monsignore 
had looked deeply and poignantly into the prob- 
lems of life; and if, as yet, he had not modified his 
opinions, he had acquired an hitherto unattained 
broadness of view, and his mind was beginning to 
rise above the narrow tenets of dogma. Guido 
first expressed with deep emotion the tumult of 
his feelings on the preceding day, when he had 
unexpectedly seen Monsignore rise as if from the 
earth before his galloping charger, and Monsignore 
detailed briefly, but with admirable clearness, 
what had occurred since their parting. He told 
of the Synod, of the treachery of Cardinal Baraldi, 
of the hatred of Conte Meravigli, of Rome’s 
silence concerning his book, and, above all, of his 
bitter disappointment at the peasants’ conduct. 
But of his visit to Delia, and of the novel train of 
thought awakened by this visit, he said nothing; 


A Letter and a Journey 277 

he did not, on the contrary, hesitate to touch upon 
his nephew’s engagement : 

“Now, Guido, there is something that as a 
priest and a gentleman I feel compelled to ac- 
knowledge to you at once. When you told me of 
your proposed engagement, I grossly misjudged 
and libelled . . . that yoimg lady! I now beg 
her pardon . . . and yours ” 

The young officer deeply moved, interrupted 
him: “No, no, uncle! You did not, could not 
know Delia!” 

It was Monsignore now who interrupted : 
“Donna Delia Leoni deserves all respect and 
admiration, I am now fully aware, but, unfortu- 
nately, the fact of her divorce remains, and on 
account of it it is impossible for me to counte- 
nance your union with her. This hurts me to 
the quick, believe me, Guido, but how could it 
be otherwise?” 

For a while Guido remained silent, then very 
earnestly he said: “Uncle, I think that now I can 
understand your motives and your point of view 
better than I did before. You consider certain 
ties imbreakable, even though they be in contra- 
diction to honesty, morality, and self-respect, just 
because a certain formula has been pronounced, 
but, in spite of this, allow me to ask you one 


278 Monsignor Villarosa 

question: If Delia had not been a victim of ignor- 
ance and greed, would you not fully endorse my 
choice?” 

At this direct question Monsignore winced : 
he saw vividly before him Delia’s spiritual and 
lovely face, and heard her measimed voice repeat, 

Those whom God hath joined together, no man 
can set asunder.” But he did not attempt to 
evade the question: ”Yes, she is all that I should 
wish your wife to be, but how can I, a priest and 
a Bishop, approve of a union in direct opposition 
to the laws of my Church, a union that cannot be 
hallowed by its holy rites, which give to the union 
of the sexes sacramental value and importance? 
I now ask you that question!” 

Again I see, imcle, and understand,” Guido 
answered with deep feeling but profound defer- 
ence; “but are you quite justified in holding that 
such unions as ours are in direct opposition to the 
laws of the Church, when we have examples 
without number of sacramental ties loosened by 
the Church itself for all kinds of reasons, even the 
most futile, but generally because much gold 
was forthcoming? Is not the union of the sexes 
made sacred and indissoluble exclusively by pure 
and absolute love?” 

A look of deep agony obscured for an instant 


A Letter and a Journey 279 

Monsignore’s eyes; he rested his head wearily 
back upon the high pillows behind him, and a 
shiver ran through his delicate frame. Guido 
came forward in the greatest concern, accusing 
himself of selfish thoughtlessness and lack of 
consideration. But serenely the old gentleman 
waved him back to his seat; those words had 
reawakened the secret battle of his innermost 
soul, and reopened the bleeding wound of his 
loveless past. He murmured to himself, in a 
tone so low and tender that Guido could not catch 
the words, “Love, perfect love, casteth out all 
fear! ” He turned to his “boy,” and thoughtfully, 
with a novel timidity, he said : 

“Well, my child, God alone knows who is in 
the right. We poor atoms can only grope and 
seek the light the best we can. But I must abide 
by my law; you, no doubt, will follow your light. 
I can no longer force my conscience upon yours. 
I cannot dispute your right to marry Delia Leoni, 
but promise me one thing: before the civil cere- 
mony is fixed, you will let me know of it yourself. 
In the meanwhile, and for as long as I live, you 
will ever be my own beloved child, as you have 
always been. Now I wish to rest alone . . . and 
not be disturbed by any one — not even by Paolino. 
God bless and prosper you, my own dearest boy!” 


28 o Monsignor Villarosa 

Guido gladly gave the required promise. He 
had perceived the strange modification in Mon- 
signore’s opinions, but could not explain it, though 
feeling that the wall between them had been 
somehow removed. The young officer bent down 
to kiss his uncle’s diaphanous hand and went 
softly to the door. He had just reached it when 
Monsignore suddenly beckoned him back near 
the bed, and, making him stoop, whispered: And 
. . . tell her not to think too harshly of me . . . 
that I send her an old man’s, not a Bishop’s, 
blessing.” Guido would have told his imcle of 
the emotion which he experienced at those wholly 
unexpected words, but, with a momentary revival 
of his old manner. Monsignore put his finger to 
his lips, intimating silence, and so the young man 
left the room. 

Guido’s stay at Corgeno was necessarily very 
short, his military duties during these still un- 
settled moments making his presence in Varese 
indispensable. When Dr. Sandri came for his 
morning visit, the young officer told him that, in 
spite of orders, he had just had a long conversa- 
tion with the patient. The doctor chided him 
severely, telling him that Monsignore’s heart was 
in no condition to stand emotions of any kind, for, 
though there was nothing yet organically wrong, 


28 i 


A Letter and a Journey 

his abnormally nervous temperament rendered 
an attack of angina pectoris possible at any 
moment. Guido, much frightened and concerned, 
then gave particulars of the morning’s interview, 
with the result that Sandri was mollified, and 
warmly congratulated the yoimg man, adding 
that such a decision ought to have been a first- 
rate tonic for Monsignore, and that the boy, 
though a soldier, was no fool. 

Don Paolino who was present at the conversa- 
tion, hearing from the “boy’s” mouth the almost 
incredible fact that Monsignore’s own nephew 
was engaged to marry one whom in his priestly 
intransigence he had surnamed “that huzzy of 
the Villa Meroni,” and the other fact, still more 
incredible, that Monsignore would no longer 
oppose this marriage, made such a wry and puz- 
zled face and pursed up his big mouth so comically 
that, in spite of their preoccupations, Sandri and 
Guido had to burst our laughing, and the former 
cryptically remarked that “lazy, good-for-nothing 
priests had better prepare to find themselves left 
out in the cold, where they belonged!” 

After leaving his uncle’s house, promising to 
return as soon as possible, Guido ran up to say 
good-bye to Delia. He repeated to her the con- 
versation he had just had with Monsignore, he 


282 Monsignor Villarosa 

told her of the serious condition of the old gentle- 
man’s health, of his many troubles with Rome, 
and above all, his words about their marriage and 
his message to her. The blessing and the form 
in which he had worded it deeply moved the young 
woman; her quick feminine intuition told her the 
painful process of thought by which Monsignore 
had modified his views, and she was at the same 
time proud and grieved at having been capable of 
disturbing the conscience of such a man. She 
longed to soothe his fevered brow and stroke those 
silver curls which had been bowed in confusion 
before her, and as she said this to Guido he could 
not help betraying a little jealousy of the tender- 
ness she evinced for Monsignore. She chided 
him sweetly for it, adding: ‘‘Of course I love him 
dearly, boy, and I love him because I see you in 
him, and because I see him in you . . . both 
transparent, simple, faithful souls, so rare and 
precious, but, boy, it is bitter to think of him 
lonely and sad and not to be able to go to him on 
account of that wicked barrier which stands 
between him and us!” 

Notwithstanding the most intelligent and de- 
voted ministrations of Dr. Sandri and Don Pao- 
lino’s untiring cares by night and day. Monsignore’s 
health, if it improved at all, progressed only in a 


A Letter and a journey 283 

distressingly slow fashion. For any trivial cause, 
a door slamming, a sudden gust of wind, or even 
without any appreciable reason, his heart flut- 
tered in the most alarming manner; at the slightest 
exertion, such as bending down t© pick up a book 
or getting in and out of bed, his lips became bluish, 
a short but dry and distressing cough racked his 
delicate frame, and his forehead became clammy 
with perspiration. Resolutely Dr. Sandri insisted 
that his patient must see absolutely no one, giving 
such peremptory orders that, even when the 
Prefetto himself came “to present to his Excel- 
lency the thanks of the Government for his heroic 
intervention in the riots of Varese,” he was told 
by Don Paolino that Monsignore’s state of health 
was such that it was impossible to see him. Cer- 
berus himself could not have been a more efficient 
guard than the good secretary, whose vigilance 
was untiring. Letters and newspapers were also 
kept from the patient — that is, as much as possible, 
for it would have been obviously even worse if 
Monsignore had been allowed to fret about his 
mail. He was accordingly allowed to see the 
many expressions of admiration elicited in the 
press by his conduct and the letters from all parts 
of the world complimenting him upon his great 
book. 


284 Monsignor Villarosa 

In the meanwhile Monsignore’s manner and 
temper had undergone a great and remarkable 
transformation; much of his old activity had 
flickered out, as well as the sudden and irresistible 
outbursts of the- historic '‘Villarosa temper.” He 
seemed content to remain for hours at a stretch 
in his huge arm-chair, propped up by pillows, 
gazing upon the lovely panorama of the lake and 
hills. He had become so pathetically docile to 
the orders of the doctor that Sandri began to grow 
uneasy about it, and from time to time attempted, 
but without result, to arouse in him the old po- 
lemical spirit. The one trait of his character 
which was not only unchanged but had developed 
to a surprising extent was his fearless innocence, 
the sweetness of his manners, and the profound 
gratitude with which he acknowledged even the 
most trivial attention from any one. Don Pao- 
lino could not witness this without feeling a big 
lump rising in his throat, and he gave vent to his 
emotion by fierce grunts which always called a 
quaint and whimsical smile on to his master’s lips. 

But during the long, silent hours of his enforced 
repose, although no one suspected it. Monsignore’s 
mind was unceasingly at work. It seemed to 
have acquired a preternatural acuity of percep- 
tion, a sublimation of its logical qualities, and a 


A Letter and a Journey 285 

strange aloofness from the narrow motives which 
hamper poor human nature; all resentment had 
been swept away by an all-understanding, all- 
pardoning charity, which gave him at least the 
peace ^‘that passeth all understanding.’^ One 
great struggle alone had not ceased in his con- 
science — the conflict between the prejudiced inter- 
pretation of the Divine law, as evolved by man, 
and its perfect, universal, and eternal meaning 
as conceived by the Divinity itself. A stupendous 
problem this, well worthy of the great, pure heart 
which was facing it unflinchingly, but one that no 
human being can attempt to solve without peril- 
ously straining the impalpable threads which bind 
the soul to the body. And that was why Dr. 
Sandri’s remedies and devoted care did not act as 
he thought they must. 

One morning, as usual, Don Paolino carefully 
examined the letters just arrived in order to set 
aside those which, in his judgment, might unduly 
excite Monsignore, but as he dared not open them, 
this operation was necessarily a very haphazard 
affair, and so one letter slipped in which the ever 
vigilant Cerberus, if he had only known, would 
have remorselessly destroyed. As is so often the 
case with highly nervous temperaments. Mon- 
signore, upon that particular morning, not only 


286 Monsignor Villarosa 

looked but really felt so much better that Sandri 
at his early visit rubbed his hands in high glee, 
and curtly remarked to his patient: ‘‘Out of the 
wood now. Good food, plenty of air, that’s all 
you want. But no more of your pranks. No, 
sir!” So Don Paolino saw no difficulty in allow- 
ing his master the pleasure of opening his mail 
himself. After perusing Guido’s daily letter and 
a few others of no importance. Monsignore picked 
up what turned out to be the snake in the grass, 
casually remarking that he had never seen that 
writing before. Rapidly glancing at the signature, 
Villarosa looked at first puzzled, then concerned, 
but said nothing, and read it as if weighing each 
word. A long silence ensued. Monsignore, with 
a slight flush on his face which heightened his 
appearance of good health, placed the letter face 
downwards upon his lap, and gazed intently out 
upon the landscape for a while. Then he re-read 
the letter from beginning to end very carefully, 
but without any visible indication of feeling which 
Don Paolino could construe in any way. With 
a smooth, even voice he suddenly spoke: 

“Dr. Sandri said that I must have plenty of 
air; you heard him, did you not? The winter 
is pretty cold and snowy in our parts, and I fail 
to see how I will be able to go out much in the 


A Letter and a Journey 287 

prevailing bad weather. So, my Paolino, what 
would you say to a trip to Rome?” The good 
secretary gasped in undisguised amazement; he 
was so thoroughly imprepared for such a sortie 
on the part of Monsignore, who proverbially 
hated travelling, that he did not find a word to 
reply. Monsignore went on volubly: ” Don’t 
forget that my visit ad limina is about due, so 
that we could combine business, health, and 
pleasure. Would it not be delightful . . . and 
you, my Paolino, who have never seen the thou- 
sand wonders of the Eternal City!” And a short, 
mirthless laugh escaped the old man — a laugh 
sounding so much like a sob that Don Paolino 
shuddered without knowing exactly why. 

During the whole day Monsignore moved about 
so easily and looked in such excellent health that 
it amoimted almost to a resurrection, and so Dr. 
Sandri, completely hoodwinked, not only approved 
but warmly encouraged a prompt execution of this 
plan. 

What were the contents of this letter which had 
finally decided Monsignore to undertake the 
journey to Rome? Nothing could have been 
more serious, as the personality of the writer and 
the contents of the letter were symptomatic in 
the extreme. Father Beerikx, S.J., an Examiner 


288 Monsignor Villarosa 

of the Holy Congregation of the Index and one 
of those mysterious and obscure individuals who 
though officially in subordinate positions are 
effectively the rulers of the Roman Curia, had 
“taken the liberty,’' as he wrote, of addressing 
Monsignore, though unknown to him, moved by 
his profoimd respect for his sainted life and his 
unbounded admiration for his genius. He did 
so, infringing the strict law of secrecy to which he, 
a mere amanuensis, was bound; but the motives 
of his act would, he hoped, fully justify and excuse 
it. He then proceeded to relate that he had been 
imworthily chosen to collate the copious notes 
made upon the first volume of The Symbolism of 
the Fourth Gospel by the Cardinals unofficially 
delegated to examine the same, and that he was 
deeply grieved to reveal to him that their Emi- 
nences had pointed out many “propositions” in 
contradiction to the Canons of the faith, thus 
rendering not only an approbation unthinkable 
but a condemnation quite possible. He hastened 
to add that, personally, he had no fault to find, 
intimating that the Cardinals might have been 
over-censorious, and that, of course, no definite 
judgment had, or could have, been pronoimced, 
as the Holy Congregation had not even as yet 
taken official cognisance of the book, and would 


A Letter and a Journey 289 

pronounce itself in due time, with the final con- 
firmation by his Holiness. With profuse apolo- 
gies and circumlocutions, he set forth that his 
respect and admiration for Monsignore gave him 
the courage to advise an immediate and serious 
consideration of the matter and not to hide from 
him that the withdrawal from circulation of this 
dangerous first volume and the non-publication 
of the remaining two by his Excellency’s private 
initiative would demonstrate in as great a man as 
he was a glorious self-sacrifice and a most dutiful 
submission to the paramount authority of the 
Church, insuring thus for himself the highest 
honors, of which, in truth, no one was more worthy. 

It was true that Monsignor Villarosa had only 
an extremely vague and shadowy knowledge of 
the hidden mainsprings operating the intricate 
and cumbersome machinery of the Roman Curia, 
and that, by force of habit and training, he 
nourished a dutiful, if somewhat perfunctory, 
consideration for the decisions of the great ruling 
congregations of the Church; but in this, his own 
personal case, it was but human that he should 
resent accusations of which no one more than 
himself could fathom the groundlessness and futil- 
ity. Then the recent discovery of the tortuous and 

deceitful methods employed by Cardinal Baraldi 
19 


290 Monsignor Villarosa 

had shaken to its very foundations his faith in 
those above him, the more so that, being a Lom- 
bard himself, he estimated correctly the character 
of Cardinal Bredana, the Vice-Prefect of the 
Congregation of the Index, whose intimacy with 
Meravigli was no secret, and he recognised the 
part he must have played in the Synod affair. 
But, more than anything else, it was that strange 
acuity of perception which he seemed to have 
mysteriously acquired, which made clear to him 
that it was not so much against his religious con- 
victions that war had been declared, but against 
the man himself, against his past, unforgotten 
and unforgiven, against his present actions, by 
which he had dared to assail the vested interests 
of those who were the supporters and financiers 
of the Vatican. If they succeeded in annulling 
his moral value and his intellectual personality, 
without exposing themselves to the perils of open 
warfare, if, by all the subtle means in their power, 
they could obtain the result of making him appear 
a self-confessed turncoat and coward, they need 
not fear him or his influence any longer, for he 
would have irretrievably stultified his own efforts. 

But not for one second did the thought of ob- 
taining in this manner peace and, perhaps, the 
disdainful guerdon of undesired honors penetrate 


291 


A Letter and a Journey 

Monsignore’s great sonl; never, at any time, was 
cowardice possible to him, and at the present 
moment, above all, steeled by his fight with the 
angel, as Jacob, he could not even conceive a 
surrender of his highest ideals. He was perfectly 
aware that he was going to face tremendous odds, 
that he was fighting against an overwhelming 
coalition of interest, reinforced by all the might 
of secular ignorance, deceit, and corruption; but 
he obstinately nourished one great hope, that of 
setting his case before the Sovereign Pontiff, the 
Vicar of Christ upon earth, who would not, who 
could not, as the others, be blinded by earthly 
considerations, and who must, through the inspira- 
tion of the Holy Ghost, pass judgment according 
to the eternal law of God. With this conviction 
profoundly rooted in his heart. Monsignore, as 
soon as the recondite meaning of Father Beerikx’s 
letter became clear to him, decided irrevocably 
to visit Rome at once, and for the first and only 
time in his life used a stratagem to obtain easily 
what he wished, well aware that had he blurted 
out his intimate motives, as he always had done, 
Dr. Sandri and Don Paolino would effectually 
block his plans and the journey become probably 
an impossibility. 

Two days after this decision, and when the 


292 Monsignor Villarosa 

preparations for the journey were well under way, 
Monsignore received indirectly the news that the 
Pope was about to approve and ratify the petition 
of the Synod of Milan. Don Davide Capelletti 
came to call upon him, accompanied by Don Sisto 
Prina, and as Monsignore was keeping up most 
wonderfully his appearance of good health they 
were allowed to see him. Both had for some time 
kept prudently out of the way, their rat-like 
instinct telling them that there was nothing more 
to win, and, maybe, very much to lose by sticking 
to the Bishop’s now very leaking barque; Mon- 
signore’s illness and the doctor’s orders offered 
an excellent excuse for their absence, so they were 
not very ill at ease when they were ushered into 
the library. Monsignore received them quite 
cordially; if he nourished any resentment for their 
wavering conduct, he did not show it; the fact 
was that the puny shortcomings of humanity had 
ceased to be of any interest or annoyance to him. 

After the usual compliments, they told their 
story. The Curato of Comabbio had a brother 
who was a member of Cardinal Bredana’s house- 
hold in Rome, and he had advised the Curato, a 
rather prominent partisan of the Peasants’ Leagues 
that he had better be very careful, as the Cardinal 
had persuaded the Pope to endorse fully the 


293 


A Letter and a Journey- 

Synod’s condemnation of the clergy’s action in the 
agrarian agitation. The real reason of Prina and 
Capelletti’s visit was to substantiate their sus- 
picion that Monsignore had protested against it; 
but they were anxious to know the manner of this 
protest, to whom it had been directed, and what 
steps had been taken to procure in the Vatican 
itself a strong support for it; this information 
would tell them how to shape their subsequent 
conduct. Monsignore listened with apparent un- 
concern to their tale, and gave no outward sign 
of his true feelings; in his heart he must have 
known that all they said was correct and most 
threatening, but, faithful to the last, his unshak- 
able trust in the wisdom and justice of the Vicar 
of Christ gave him a cheerful courage. He smiled 
upon the two priests and replied: 

“My dear friends, do not be anxious in the 
least about the tittle-tattle of underlings; neither 
Cardinal Bredana nor any one else can persuade 
his Holiness to set himself in contradiction with 
truth. His Holiness has in his hands the whole 
facts of the case; I myself have furnished him a 
faithful and complete narrative of all that has 
taken place. This is more than sufficient, and it 
is almost sinful to believe that the Supreme Pontiff 
will allow any one to influence him against right 


294 Monsignor Villarosa 

and justice. It is an aspersion upon his high 
intelligence and rectitude! Depart, therefore, 
in peace, my dear friends, with my blessing, 
continue staunch and true in your noble mission, 
and God will protect His own!” 

So the two left the villa, but when they got 
out of eye and earshot that wily fox Don Sisto 
shrewdly remarked to Don Davide: “Friend 
Davide, the old man’s faculties must have de- 
plorably weakened if he believes that the Pope 
is going to listen to him all alone! All I have to 
say is that we had better look out for ourselves; 
the game is up!” To this sentiment Don Davide 
gave unqualified acquiescence. 

This visit confirmed still more, if it had been 
required. Monsignore’s strong conviction that an 
immediate journey to Rome had become impera- 
tive. There was no longer any possible doubt; 
his divination of the intimate connection between 
his social activity and the reception of his book 
was correct ; the same hostile powers were at 
work, and he realised with startling clearness that 
at the bottom of it all lurked the hatred, patient 
because eternal, patiens quia aternus^ of the true 
rulers of the Church against the priest who wished 
to remain at the same time a patriot, and combine 
in one great ideal his devotion to the greatness 


295 


A Letter and a Journey 

and unity of Italy and to the pure majesty of his 
faith. It was inexpressibly torturing to him to 
discover how the great object of his entire life 
was nothing else but an empty and impossible 
dream. Be it as it may, he would stand up for it 
to the last, and die, if needs be, buried in the folds 
of his glorious banner. 

With feverish energy he pushed rapidly on the 
preparations for his journey; coldly and collectedly 
he informed Arciprete Sidoli of his decision, merely 
explaining that his visit ad limina Petri could no 
longer be delayed. Sidoli was so thoroughly 
taken aback that he could not help insinuating 
that Monsignore must have far more weighty 
reasons for such an unexpected and sudden de- 
cision, an impertinence this which evoked one of 
the last flashes of the “Villarosa temper.’’ “Ask 
your friend Conte Meravigli; he will inform you 
of my other reasons if you do not know them!” 
Monsignore thundered as he haughtily turned 
his back upon his enemy. 

It had been impossible for the young officer to 
return even once to Casbenno, for the troops had 
been kept on the move throughout the province 
as a matter of precaution, and accordingly no 
furloughs were granted. When Monsignore de- 
cided to visit Rome, first Don Paolino and then 


296 Monsignor Villarosa 

his uncle himself had informed him of the fact, 
and Guido, mindful of Dr. Sandri’s warnings, was 
not a little disturbed by the news. He accord- 
ingly wrote to the doctor requesting his views 
about the possibility of such an undertaking, and, 
to his surprise and relief, received the reply that 
as the symptoms which had so frightened them all 
had suddenly disappeared, as was often the case 
with nervous temperaments, the writer thought 
that, far from harming his patient, a visit to a 
southern climate would be highly advisable, 
especially because he could remain there much 
in the open — good air being the one great remedy 
for him. 

Guido accordingly did all in his power to make 
his uncle’s journey comfortable and pleasant, 
engaged for him a specially reserved compart- 
ment, and made arrangements in Rome for ade- 
quate and convenient rooms; though not at all 
versed in the habits of prelates visiting the Eternal 
City, he secured a cosy suite in a very select and 
fashionable family hotel overlooking the Villa 
Borghese, realising that a huge and noisy cara- 
vansary was no fit place for a Bishop of retiring 
disposition and just out of a sick-room. So on 
the day fixed for the journey Guido met his uncle 
at his arrival from Varese in the Milan station. 


A Letter and a Journey 297 

dined with him, and left him only when the Rome 
express steamed off, after supervising the last 
particulars for his welfare. Never, apparently, 
had Monsignore been in better spirits; he was 
extremely thin, it is true, and of a strange dia- 
phanous pallor, intermittently suffused by fugi- 
tive flashes of color, but his voice was strong and 
even and his movements as elastic and free as 
ever. 

After a pleasant and uneventful journey. Mon- 
signore and Don Paolino arrived in the capital. 
Rome was almost new to Villarosa, his last visit 
to that city dating almost thirty years back. It 
was with a peculiar feeling of pride and pleasure 
that he gazed upon the broad new streets, the 
fine buildings, the busy throng, so wonderfully 
different from the squalor, silence, and neglect 
which had made the papal Rome he knew look 
like some small provincial town fast falling into 
decay and oblivion. In that lovely morning of 
December, the sun just over the horizon shed a 
glory of color over the towers and pinnacles of the 
City of Dreams, and the huge dome of St. Peter’s 
glistened dazzlingly as a colossal jewel set in a 
vast diadem of gold. As Monsignore looked up 
in wonder and admiration his eyes were attracted 
above and beyond the Basilica to the summit of 


298 Monsignor Villarosa 

a beautiful hill, all trees and verdure, upon which 
the bold outline of a great equestrian statue was 
sharply silhouetted by the horizontal rays of the 
sun; immediately he recognised Garibaldi, stand- 
ing on guard, impassible and serene, over the 
great city at his feet. Instinctively, as it were, 
his hand flew to the bronze star, hidden against 
the cruel scar on his breast, then up to his tricorno 
in military salute. The rapidly moving carriage 
soon cut off the view, and in a few minutes landed 
them at their hotel, where they were received with 
the greatest attention and made at once perfectly 
at home. 

Before leaving Casbenno, Monsignore had very 
carefully planned his movements: he must pay 
first the so-called “obligatory’’ visits, the visile 
d'obbligo of ecclesiastical etiquette, and then ob- 
tain the formal audience at the Vatican for the 
official visit ad limina Petri. During this time 
he would, of course, lose no opportunity of advo- 
cating the causes he came to champion, so that 
his Holiness might be prepared by the knowledge 
of his arrival and ready to take up the solution 
of weighty problems which must be so near to 
the heart of the Vicar of Christ; but he counted, 
above all, upon his historical right as a Bishop, 
a right which in his guileless simplicity he firmly 


A Letter and a Journey 299 

retained as inalienable, to visit his Holiness at 
any time and without passing through the mazes 
of an intricate ceremonial. That the representa- 
tive of Christ upon earth should be hedged in 
from any direct communications with his own 
immediate subordinates by far more obstacles 
than the Grand Lama of Thibet never entered 
his mind, and so next day, cheerful and full of 
hope, he set out to begin his visits. 

First of all, however, he drove to the Church 
of San Carlo al Corso, a sort of unofficial head- 
quarters for all Lombard ecclesiastics. This was 
the ‘‘titular” church of Cardinal Baraldi, much 
to Monsignore’s annoyance, as, no doubt, the 
officials there might be prepared for his visit, and 
with that petty but persistent malignity of which 
ecclesiastics are past masters set all kinds of im- 
pediments in his way. Much to Monsignore’s 
surprise, everything was excessively pleasant: the 
Prevosto received him with all the honors due to 
his rank, immediately offered him the choice of 
altars and hours for his daily Mass, a compliment 
also extended to good Don Paolino, extremely 
out of ease in the gaudy church, and placed him- 
self at the orders of Monsignore for anything he 
would need. 

After this part of his duties had been satisfacto- 


300 Monsignor Villarosa 

rily arranged a very bitter morsel was in store for 
Monsignore; the first in his list of visits must be 
that to Cardinal Bredana, as the Vice-Prefetto 
of the Holy Congregation of the Index, and the 
only Lombard Cardinal in the Curia. Cardinal 
Everardo Bredana, of the Princes of Montigliolo 
and Roccabbia, was notorious all over Italy for 
his mad hatred of the new order of things, his 
dark and continuous plottings against Italy 
abroad, and the questionable morality of his 
private life. His persecution of the Marchese 
Renato Rinaldi, a young, virtuous, and highly 
gifted priest and his own nephew, who had finally 
unfrocked himself for conscientious reasons, had 
become a public scandal, and no Lombard could 
forget the revelations of the famous “Rinaldi 
Case,*’ fought out before the courts, when the 
Cardinal had attempted to defraud the young 
Marchese of his father’s large fortune. Mon- 
signore, who had known the Rinaldis well, as 
they possessed a country seat and estate in the 
neighborhood of Corgeno, though not sympathis- 
ing with the philosophical ideas nor with the 
decisive schism of Renato, looked upon Bredana 
with unalloyed disgust and contempt. Further- 
more, Villarosa knew of the Cardinal’s intimacy 
with Meravigli, guessed that he must have mani- 


301 


A Letter and a Journey 

pulated the petition of the Synod, and was prob- 
ably also the leader of the violent opposition in 
the Congregation of the Index against his book. 
But at the same time Cardinal Bredana was 
reputed to be all-powerful at the Vatican, and so 
Monsignore had no alternative but to go. 

At Palazzo Bredana he was superciliously 
informed by an imposing guarda-portone that his 
Eminence was at home, and, leaving Don Paolino 
to wait for him in the carriage, he toiled up the 
imposing stairs, stopping every little while, as he 
was alone, to still the quick and painful throbbing 
of his heart. The liveried flunkeys lolling about 
in the hall straightened up at once in the presence 
of an unmistakable grand-seigneur, and Mon- 
signore, after handing his card and waiting a short 
while in a magnificent drawing-room, of which 
the Cardinal’s draped throne was the most con- 
spicuous piece of furniture, was ushered into a 
private study. Tall and powerfully built, Bre- 
dana towered above Villarosa’s delicate frame as 
he stood up stiffly to receive his visitor. No 
greater contrast could have been imagined than 
that existing between the two men confronting 
each other: the one hard, wilful, and sensual- 
looking; the other with his spiritual, trusting, and 
lovable expression. Immediately their glances 


302 Monsignor Villarosa 

clashed and gripped each other, but no sign of the 
duel was to be seen upon the surface. They 
exchanged a curt and formal greeting, but did 
not shake hands, as it was proscribed by strict 
etiquette. 

Monsignore, after explaining that he had come 
to Rome in order to pay his visit ad Umina, an- 
nounced that he had presented his formal demand 
for the ceremonial visit, and requested the Car- 
dinal to use his influence in favor of a prompt 
reception, being most anxious to return to his 
diocese. The Cardinal looked pretematurally 
grave, and shook his head in no encouraging 
fashion; his Holiness was far from well, weakened 
and much incommoded by the gout, due, no doubt, 
to the enforced conflnement in the Vatican of a 
man who had taken a great deal of exercise all his 
life, and the doctors, unanimously, had recom- 
mended the most scrupulous observance of their 
orders, which included the reduction to the mini- 
mum of all visits, excitement, or work. On 
account of this regrettable fact, one more crime 
upon the conscience of the vile despoilers of the 
Holy See’s independence, many Bishops, whose 
names he glibly quoted, from all parts of the world 
had been compelled to depart without the great 
consolation of seeing his Holiness, or had deferred 


A Letter and a Journey 303 

their visits to more propitious moments, so he 
would do his best, but could promise nothing. 
Monsignore, seeing clearly the drift of the Car- 
dinal’s long discourse, and knowing full well that 
his enemy would throw all possible obstacles in 
his way, at once dropped the subject. 

Pluckily, Monsignore then spoke about the 
examination of The Symbolism of the Fourth 
Gospel by the Congregation of the Index, saying 
that he had come to request from his Eminence, 
as Vice-Prefetto of the same, some information 
about the decision to be taken about it; but, in 
spite of all his efforts, he could not draw out his 
adversary; the Cardinal, studiously and with 
subtle insolence, entrenched himself in the plea 
that Monsignore’s book was not yet officially 
before the Congregation, and that, as to himself, 
he had not read the work, as his many serious 
and absorbing duties prevented him from indulg- 
ing in the mere reading of books — a thrust which 
Villarosa countered by acquiescing that of course 
his Eminence was not expected to do so. Bredana 
winced visibly, as his ignorance on such subjects 
was a well-known and very sore point; so he at 
once retaliated by asking how the crazy peasants 
of the Varesotto were progressing, and if the 
clergy had not yet come to their senses. “If 


304 Monsignor Villarosa 

they have not/' he threateningly went on, **we 
will see about it, Monsignore, for I can tell you 
that his Holiness is perfectly indignant! Short 
shrift will be allowed to the transgressors of the 
final decisions of the Church!” And with these 
words he rose to dismiss his visitor, as was his 
privilege. 

Monsignore rose likewise, and, looking his 
adversary intrepidly in the eyes, replied: '‘So be 
it, your Eminence; short shrift to the transgres- 
sors! But who are these transgressors? Those 
who uphold the rich and the powerful, or those 
who, following Christ, stand for the poor and 
oppressed?” And, not waiting for an answer, 
he walked proudly out of the room. 

When Monsignore got back into the carriage, 
where Don Paolino was anxiously awaiting him, 
he shook himself all over, as if wishing to get rid 
of the noisome traces left by his contact with such 
a man. To Don Paolino he exclaimed almost 
gaily: “No more work to-day . . . fortunately! 
I almost suffocated in Cardinal Bredana's study. 
I need now pure, imdefiled air.” Then, turning 
to the coachman, he ordered: “Drive us up to 
the Gianicolo by the shortest way. Stop at the 
foot of Garibaldi's statue. There I will breathe. 
The air is pure up there.” 


CHAPTER XI 


VANQUISHED BUT NOT COWED 

For more than a fortnight after his interview 
with Cardinal Bredana, Monsignore continued 
with unwearying method and patience his labori- 
ous round of visits, undeterred by the gradually 
increasing coolness of the personages upon whom 
he called. No one better than himself, on accoimt 
of his abnormally developed faculties, could de- 
tect the thinly veiled hostility of some and the 
frightened reserve of others, and he understood 
that, for some occult reason, every one belonging 
to the Vatican fought shy of him. He was evi- 
dently considered a highly dangerous person, and 
accordingly left severely alone. 

Villarosa only found one exception, but a very 
notable one: a man of world-wide reputation, of 
impeccable life, a prelate who had occupied the 
most exalted positions in the Curia, and who had 
come very near being elected Pope at the last 
Conclave, the Cardinal Mistretta di Santa Rosalia. 
305 


20 


3o 6 Monsignor Villarosa 

The proud Sicilian nobleman kept at that moment 
absolutely aloof from the Vatican in a contemp- 
tuous retirement, and as he was mortally hated 
and feared by the camerilla ruling the Curia, his 
influence would have been more damaging than 
helpful for Monsignore, who called upon him less 
as a duty than as a genuine demonstration of 
respect. Though not sympathising in any way 
with the Bishop of Varese, in his social, political, 
or philosophical ideals. Cardinal Mistretta had 
the greatest respect for the man and the thinker, 
both of whom he could thoroughly appreciate. 
His reception of him, however, cordial and defer- 
ential as it was, persuaded Monsignore more 
effectively than all other symptoms that the cause 
he was supporting was a desperate one, and that 
his one hope could lie only in a direct and personal 
appeal to the Pope. Cardinal Mistretta was 
perfectly frank with Monsignore, told him that 
they must agree to disagree on the subjects he 
had come to moot, although he recognised their 
vital importance, but concerning an appeal to the 
Pope alone the experienced statesman shrugged 
his shoulders and replied : 

“His Holiness may be willing to listen to you 
— if you can get to see him; but, believe me, my 
good Monsignore, they will never allow you to 


Vanquished but Not Cowed 307 

come near enough — never. Follow my advice: 
I love and admire you, Villarosa, and only wish 
we had a few more priests like you, but, just be- 
cause of this, you are going to come put of this 
conflict battered and bruised, a broken man — that 
is, if you manage to survive. So give up the 
attempt, go back to yoiu* beautiful lakes and 
mountains. Go, publish and preach no more. 
Have yoiurself forgotten, if you can; your peace 
and may be your life are at that price.” 

Greatly touched, and not a little struck by the 
similitude of the advice given him by two such 
dissimilar men as Cardinal Mistretta and Don 
Paolino, Monsignore warmly thanked his host, 
but, urged on by that intense flame of voluntary 
self-sacrifice which blazed within him, he unflinch- 
ingly replied: ^‘May God bless your Eminence 
for the kindness and friendliness shown to me, 
which I shall never forget, but my path has been 
marked out by our Master who is in heaven, and 
what else can I do but struggle on towards that 
goal He has pointed out to me? In Him alone 
I trust, and into His hands have I committed my 
^oul! The rest does not count.” 

And so Villarosa left, much more saddened and 
downhearted than after his exciting encounters 
with enemies and cowards, while the Cardinal 


3o 8 Monsignor Villarosa 

grumbled to himself: '‘A saint — that man is a 
saint! but nowadays the Vatican is the last place 
in the world for saints.” 

It was immediately after this interview with 
Cardinal Mistretta that Don Paolino began to 
detect an alarming yet almost imperceptible 
change for the worse in Monsignore’s hitherto 
apparently excellent condition of health and 
spirits. This manifested itself by a subdued but 
feverish impatience to hurry in whatever he was 
doing, as if in doubt whether there was time 
enough before him to accomplish his task, and, 
occasionally, by unaccountable short and sudden 
gasps for breath. In spite of Monsignore’s 
voluble assertions that he felt perfectly well, 
faithful Don Paolino plied him with the medicines 
that Sandri had furnished, but could not overcome 
the old gentleman’s repugnance for food of any 
kind. However, Monsignore, far from abandon- 
ing his plan of seeing the Pope privately, so that 
he might speak freely and unconstrainedly with 
him, set to work with an energy as admirable and 
pathetic as it was futile. It became an obsession 
with him, almost a monomania, which pervaded 
and absorbed his brilliant faculties to such an 
extent that he could hardly see and under- 
stand anything else, and precluded the possi- 


Vanquished but Not Cowed 309 

bility of detecting how cruelly he was being 
duped. 

Monsignore did not count upon his official 
request for the ceremonial audience de rigueur^ 
knowing that it would pass, with slow and majestic 
deliberation, from one official to the other, and 
would be exposed to all possible delays by Bre- 
dana’s powerful opposition, but he centred all 
his endeavors in the effort of presenting himself 
imheralded before his Holiness, according to the 
historical right of Bishops. So, day after day he 
frequented the Vatican at all hours, flitting from 
one ante-room to the other, demanding and beg- 
ging, in turn, from subordinate officials to have 
access to his Holiness: the officials were all ex- 
tremely courteous, some even quite friendly, but all 
had most plausible and unanswerable reasons to 
explain how his otherwise wholly legitimate 
request could not possibly be granted that day, 
and poor Monsignore could never go farther than 
the ante-room. Once only, a young Cameriere 
Segreto, either moved by the deep pathos of that 
figure or, maybe, for mysterious reasons of his 
own, smuggled Villarosa into a windowless little 
room adjoining the Pope’s private study. From 
there Monsignore heard his Holiness petulantly 
exclaim, in the broadest Venetian dialect, “Not 


310 Monsignor Villarosa 

those slippers, Toni! Give me the old ones*'; 
then something untoward must have happened, 
for the Cameriere pounced upon Monsignore and 
dragged him bodily away. That was the nearest 
he ever got to the Vicar of Christ. 

Time dragged on. In the restricted, malicious, 
and gossiping world of the Vatican, Monsignor 
Villarosa soon became a well-known personality 
and almost a joke. Irreverent young denizens 
of that peculiar world nicknamed him the ‘‘Crazy 
Bishop,” and more than once a clerical wag sent 
the old man flying to some out-of-the-way comer 
of the Vatican by imaginary indications of where 
the Pope might be found alone. Unfortimately 
Don Paolino never accompanied Monsignore to 
the Vatican; if he had, the shrewd fellow would 
have opened his master’s eyes much sooner, so 
that when the inevitable crash occurred, it was 
fully unexpected. 

Cardinal Bredana had not rested one unneces- 
sary moment ; the Papal approbation to the 
Synod of Milan’s petition was given and embodied 
in a Rescript to the Cardinal, Archbishop of 
Milan, much more vimlent than the petition it- 
self. After the usual lamentations over the woes 
of his “imprisonment,” the Pope branded the 
irreligion and irreverence of the present mlers of 


Vanquished but Not Cowed 31 1 

Italy, worthy successors of the wicked men who 
had destroyed the old order of things established 
by God himself. “But,” it went on to say, “these 
wicked men have craftily penetrated even into 
the bosom of the Church itself, defiling it by their 
presence, and have sown their infamous seed 
especially in thy archdiocese, my Reverend 
Brother, so that many of the clergy have been 
induced in good faith, under the pretence of 
charity and love for the poor, to uphold wicked 
and malicious schemes, designed by the Evil 
One to tmdermine the Holy Foundations of Our 
Church. We have more especially in mind the 
so-called agrarian agitation, which thou and thy 
Reverend Brothers of the Lombard episcopate 
have so masterfully denounced. We condemn 
it as ungodly and sinful because of its shameless 
attacks against the rightful owners of the soil, 
and the destruction by it of that meekness, humil- 
ity, and poverty which must ever be the crowning 
virtues of the toilers if they wish to obtain one 
day the eternal glory of heaven. Our clergy are 
therefore commanded hereby, under the sanction 
of the gravest canonical punishments, to labor 
with all their strength against such malignant 
principles, thus once more solemnly reaffirming their 
devotion and obedience to Our paternal orders.” 


312 Monsignor Villarosa 

This Rescript, carried by special messenger, 
was by the formal order of the Cardinal-Arch- 
bishop of Milan immediately read at Mass in all 
the churches of the archdiocese, Varese of course 
included, where Sidoli took the fiendish pleasure 
of not delaying one hour. Monsignor Villarosa 
was kept thoroughly in the dark about the whole 
procedure, and was only informed of the fact by 
the Roman newspapers. They quoted a triumph- 
ant article from the chief organ of the Lombard 
landlords, rendering imstinted praise to '‘this 
wise and far-reaching” document, as it called the 
Rescript, published in extenso. 

Any other man would have sunk under the 
blow ; Villarosa faced it with true Spartan heroism, 
but the shaft had touched him in a vital spot, and 
it was only by dint of will-power that he did not 
faint, for his heart felt as if crushed by a frozen 
grip, and for a while he could not breathe. Don 
Paolino, shaking in his shoes, uttered inarticulate 
oaths and objurgations and reminders to his 
master ; but with fearful energy Monsignore 
silenced him, rushed blindly downstairs, followed 
this time by his distracted secretary, and jumping 
into his carriage, ordered the coachman to drive 
full speed to the Vatican; there he flew up the 
stairs so rapidly that Don Paolino could not follow 


Vanquished but Not Cowed 313 

him, and in the Segreteria Pontificia demanded 
in so terrible a tone an immediate reply to his 
request for an audience ad limina, that the official 
in charge, terrified by the apparition of that 
avenging spectre, completely lost his head and 
returned to the Bishop his letter of request, crossed 
in red pencil by these words in the Pope’s own 
handwriting: non riceversV^ (“Not to be 

received”). Slowly, not uttering another word, 
with a rigid, automatic step, Villarosa left the 
Cancelleria, still grasping the letter in his clenched 
fist, and got back into the carriage; there in the 
arms of Don Paolino he was stricken by a first 
attack of angina pectoris and fell into a dead faint. 

At the hotel a doctor, hastily summoned, 
managed to restore Monsignore to consciousness; 
as the heart was fluttering in a most alarming 
fashion, he administered an injection of nitrogly- 
cerine, which acted so rapidly that the physician 
almost regretted having used that medica- 
ment. As soon as he was able to speak. Mon- 
signore declared that he would not stop one hour 
longer in Rome, and that, come what might, he 
must leave immediately for Varese. Neither 
prayers nor threats nor the tears of Don Paolino 
had the slightest infiuence; the attending doctor, 
fearing the perilous state of agitation into which 


314 Monsignor Villarosa 

the aged prelate was working himself, finally 
advised Don Paolino to give in, as the journey 
would be nothing in comparison with the danger 
they were facing by not humoring him. The 
distracted secretary secretly wired the news of the 
attack and of their abrupt return to Guido, Dr. 
Sandri, and the housekeeper at Casbenno, and 
was able to have his master safely transported to 
the railway, and to find, with difficulty places 
in a crowded carriage of a slow day train. 

The weather was abominable and the journey 
never-ending; the carriage, of the old-fashioned 
kind, was wretchedly stuffy and close, as the 
passengers, often changed at intermediate points, 
strenuously objected to the lowering of any 
window. Monsignore sat in his comer, bolt 
upright most of the time, as if fearing that the 
slightest relaxation of the grip he had taken on 
himself might mean an utter collapse, while Don 
Paolino watched narrowly every twitch of his 
eyelids with an expression on his homely face 
that was comically pathetic. Neither spoke, 
except at long intervals, and then in short sen- 
tences only : Monsignore could not, the excmciat- 
ing pain gnawing at his vital springs did not allow 
it, and Don Paolino was at an utter loss to express 
the whirl of all the conflicting thoughts which 


Vanquished but Not Cowed 315 


crowded upon his mind, and felt that a railway- 
carriage was no place in which to give vent to his 
indignation. 

Night came as they reached Pisa, where they 
had to wait more than two hours before taking 
the train for Genoa and Milan. By alternately 
coaxing and scolding Don Paolino succeeded in 
forcing Monsignore to drink a glass of milk, in 
which he surreptitiously had poured some brandy, 
and when the train started at last he fortunately 
secured a reserved compartment. The remainder 
of the journey was thus negotiated in much 
better conditions, Monsignore at last consenting 
to lie down, though his labored breathing forced 
him to be propped up with all the rugs they could 
spare. But the old gentleman’s sleep was even 
more of a torture to his anxious watcher than the 
rigid but living tension of Monsignore’s nerves 
during the day; in the dim light of the compart- 
ment the emaciated lineaments of that beloved 
face, with its waxen pallor and closed eyes, gave 
it a fearful likeness of being stilled for ever in 
death. 

Early in the damp, foggy dawn of a rigid Janu- 
ary day the train steamed at last into the station 
of Milan, and Don Paolino breathed more freely 
as he saw the well-known faces of Guido and Dr. 


3i 6 Monsignor Villarosa 

Sandri. The meeting was intensely sad and 
touching, though the young officer, coached by 
Sandri, and Sandri himself, did their utmost to 
eliminate any causes which might react upon the 
shattered nerves of the Bishop. Both men were 
elaborately unconcerned, as if it was an almost 
daily occurrence to meet Monsignore returning 
from Rome, and nothing untoward had happened. 
Villarosa saw through it all, but wishing to please 
them, did not even inquire how it was that they 
knew of his sudden decision to return home. As 
Guido helped him down from the carriage, the 
old gentleman rested in his arms a little longer 
than necessary and whispered brokenly in his 
ear: “God bless you, my boy! I am vanquished 
. . . but . . . unshaken!” Then, turning, he 
greeted Sandri with a melancholy attempt to be 
jocose, so that the good doctor, in a not very 
successful effort to hide his emotion at the sight 
of the havoc wrought upon his patient, growled 
incomprehensibly and concluded by vociferously 
berating the porters for their delay in bringing 
up the Bath chair that had been ordered. 

With the obedience of a little child (this being 
the symptom which gave Sandri the greatest 
anxiety) , Monsignore allowed himself to be wheeled 
out of the station, and after breakfast, a meal 


Vanquished but Not Cowed 317 

which the doctor forced down his patient’s throat 
by repeated explosions of wrath, Guido casually 
told his uncle that he had recently bought a fine 
limousine, and that he wished to drive him directly 
to Casbenno in it. Villarosa understood at once 
that this was simply a move to save him from the 
gossiping curiosity of the town-folk, and, con- 
senting to be deceived, admired the luxurious 
automobile, but almost as soon as they were seated 
he rested his tired head against a pillow and sank 
into an intermediate state between stupor and 
sleep. 

This gave Sandri the opportunity to question 
Don Paolino most minutely, and to upbraid him 
furiously, of course in whispers, for a thoughtless 
scatterbrain, whose inattention and lack of under- 
standing had rendered this fatal occurrence pos- 
sible. Poor Don Paolino was, of course, perfectly 
innocent of all these misdeeds, but for the first 
time in his life felt so crushed and speechless with 
care and grief that he had no energy left to defend 
himself, and took his punishment without an 
attempt to contradict. In a couple of hours 
they arrived at Casbenno, and Monsignore was 
settled in his bed under the most rigorous medical 
supervision. 

But Monsignore would not remain in confine- 


3i 8 Monsignor Villarosa 

ment longer than the few days absolutely neces- 
sary to give him the long-needed rest. When 
Sandri, at his wits^ end, for the first time partly 
disclosed to his patient the truth about his state 
of health and told him that his heart would not 
stand much strain of any kind, adding that any 
imprudence on his part would be little short of 
suicide. Monsignore sternly but quietly replied: 
“I am a soldier, Sandri, a soldier of Christ, and 
a Villarosa. I will obey you in all you say, but I 
cannot be a coward, remember it. And if I must 
die a few years sooner, what of it? Why should 
I live when all my life is crumbling around me? 
No! far better fall at my post with my battle- 
flag before my darkening eyes, than drag on the 
empty shell of my worthless body. I am going 
to do my duty to the end, Sandri, at all costs; for 
the rest, God will provide!” 

Dr. Sandri reasoned, implored, threatened even 
to throw up the case. It was all useless, and 
finally he had to do the best he could in the ad- 
verse circumstances. So when Sidoli, as Vicar- 
General of the diocese, asked for admittance on 
the plea that he must present at once to his chief 
a thorough report of what had occurred during 
his absence, but in reality to gloat over the down- 
fall of an enemy and feast his eyes upon his 


Vanquished but Not Cowed 319 

humiliation and defeat, Monsignore had him 
immediately ushered into his library, and, for 
over an hour, plied him with the minutest and 
most searching questions about matters of the 
ecclesiastical jurisdiction. He did not spare him 
many severe reprimands about lax practices and 
neglect of duty, to all of which the Arciprete had 
to submit, boiling inwardly with ill-repressed fury, 
as Monsignore’s manner was as haughty and 
commanding as ever, and any one ignorant of 
what had just happened in Rome would not have 
imagined that his authority had been irretrievably 
shaken. 

But at the end of the interview Sidoli thought 
that his turn for reprisals had come when he 
broached the subject of Cardinal Baraldi’s circular 
for the publication of the last Papal Rescript. In 
a honeyed and perfidious voice he began: “Your 
Excellency has full knowledge, of course, of the 
Rescript addressed by his Holiness to the Cardinal- 
Archbishop, who imparted the necessary orders 
to all the churches of the archdiocese. Interpret- 
ing in this, I am sure, the wishes of your Excel- 
lency, I had the honor of reading this magnificent 
document before the faithful assembled in the 
cathedral the same day in which it reached me, 
and next Sunday it will be read by my order from 


320 Monsignor Villarosa 

the pulpit in all the rural parishes of our diocese. 
Then, entering, I hope, still more deeply into the 
spirit of the document, I thought it highly advis- 
able to do something better: I have penned, as 
well as my poor means permit, an address to his 
Holiness, ‘solemnly reaffirming our devotion to 
his paternal orders,’ as the Rescript says, and 
strongly disavowing any sympathy with the 
wicked and impious subverters of the holy order 
of things. This address I have sent to all priests 
of our diocese to sign, as no doubt they will be 
more than anxious to do, and, in due time, we shall 
have it forwarded to Rome and laid at the feet 
of the Blessed Pontiff. Have I your Excellency’s 
approbation? ” 

During this long tirade Monsignore did not 
move even a muscle of his face; whatever his 
feelings may have been, he did not show them, 
but kept those uncannily penetrating eyes of his 
fixed upon those of his tormentor as if boring 
through his soul. When Sidoli finished speaking, 
in the same stern and even voice as before. Mon- 
signore replied: “You have done your duty as 
regards the Papal Rescript with a commendable 
promptness of which your past would not have 
made me think you capable; as to the address to 
the Pontiff you have planned, it is merely a per- 


Vanquished but Not Cowed 321 

sonal initiative, and has no bearing upon or inter- 
est for the proper administration of the diocese 
or our duties to God. My clergy can sign it or 
not, as they please — I will have nothing to say 
in the matter! Remember, however, that any 
hopes of preferment you may nourish would be 
for ever blasted if many priests refused to sign.’' 
Monsignore paused a second, then with tremen- 
dous force added : And I shall never sign it ! You 
may go.” The Bishop, standing upright, imperi- 
ously pointed to the door, and the Arciprete 
slunk off like a whipped cur. 

When Monsignore, after a solitary struggle to 
overcome the poimding of his heart, summoned 
Don PaoHno, it was to give him the order to re- 
quest Capelletti, Prina, and a few other parish 
priests who had been most intimately identified 
with the propaganda of the Agrarian League to 
visit Monsignore at once. The secretary grumbled 
and recriminated most rebelliously, but had finally 
to obey, because of Sandri’s warning that any- 
thing was better for Monsignore than openly 
opposing his wishes. This request procured an- 
other disappointment to Villarosa; all these priests, 
with the exception of Capelletti and Prina, replied, 
with excuses more or less pitiable and lame, that 
they would come later or as soon as they could. 


21 


322 Monsignor Villarosa 

As it was not and could not be an official command, 
there were no grounds to insist, but Monsignore 
had no such intention, and only smiled bitterly 
and contemptuously as he read their replies. 

However, he must still have believed in Capel- 
letti and Prina, who came together; the first had 
a great influence upon a large number of his col- 
leagues, and his refusal to sign Sidoli's address 
would certainly be imitated by many, and the 
second’s facile pen might be precious in an even- 
tual press campaign against the same address, so 
Monsignore wanted to secure the co-operation of 
both. But above all, the defeated prelate wanted 
the moral consolation of feeling that he was not 
alone, that other priests were sharing his ideals, 
and that these ideals still stood unshaken. The 
two visitors saw at once the ravages wrought upon 
Monsignore’s health, and selfish and base though 
their souls must have been, the cruel change in 
their good Bishop’s lovable face struck them 
perchance with a pang of regret and remorse. 
But they had long been traitors to him in their 
hearts, and now they saw that they had to deceive 
the old man. They lied unflinchingly and un- 
blushingly, and Monsignore’s hopes seemed to 
run high, as they loudly and indignantly denounced 
Sidoli’s address and proclaimed their unalterable 


Vanquished but Not Cowed 323 

devotion to the principles set forth by their “great 
leader.*’ So they left Villarosa apparently cheer- 
ful and consoled ; but a fortnight later the Carrier e 
Cattolico published with great enthusiasm Sidoli’s 
pompous composition, followed by the signatures 
of nearly three hundred priests, and among the 
first were the names of Davide Capelletti and 
Sisto Prina. Judas-like, they had sold their 
master, the former for the nomination as Prevosto 
to a rich and fashionable church in Milan, the 
latter for a strong subsidy from the Vatican Press 
Fund. 

All the priests of the diocese obeyed as sheep, 
such men as Ranzi, the black-souled Curato of 
La Cascinetta, being indefatigable in collecting 
signatures; but he, at least, got what he so richly 
deserved, as having by mischance encountered 
Don Paolino in a solitary path behind Casbenno, 
and twitted him about the address, that worthy 
hillman wholly forgot his cloth and thrashed the 
scoundrel till he howled for mercy, sending him 
on his way home with a final kick to hide for a 
long time his swollen and discolored features. 

From then on Monsignore was absolutely alone. 
The shock caused by the treason of those whom 
he had believed to be his faithful disciples was, 
however, not as severe as Sandri and Don Paolino 


324 Monsignor Villarosa 

had feared. From that high plane of spirituality 
he had attained he must have fathomed, some 
time before, the shallow depths of those puny and 
tortuous souls, and detected the false ring of the 
base metal. When he saw their signatures, he 
did not inveigh against them or denounce them 
pitilessly with the vivid eloquence of former days ; 
he quietly gazed out on the fast falling snow which 
blurred his beloved landscape, and remarked to 
his good secretary, almost beside himself with 
indignation: “Poor benighted souls! May my 
Master pardon them as freely as I do, for they 
have ears, and they hear not — aye, and eyes, and 
they cannot see. ’ ’ His only visitor was Dr. Sandri, 
who came daily and stayed as long as he possibly 
could. Guido, as often as his duties permitted, 
came to pass a day with his uncle, but despite the 
veil drawn over the past, there always persisted 
a subtle restraint in their intercourse; the subject 
of his marriage with Delia had never been dis- 
cussed again between them, but it was in the mind 
of both, and the young man felt, with a very 
comprehensible impatience, that if his fiancee 
was unwilling to name at last a date for the cere- 
mony, it was exclusively due to her desire not to 
increase the sorrows of Monsignore at that 
melancholy hour of his career. 


Vanquished but Not Cowed 325 

Delia’s resistance, however, cotdd not last much 
longer, and she finally surrendered to the per- 
sistent entreaties of her lover; the marriage was 
to take place in the second week in May. But 
this only upon one condition: Guido must make 
another attempt, and if the news disturbed or 
saddened Monsignore in the least, the young man 
must be willing to delay the ceremony again in- 
definitely. For this purpose Guido obtained a 
week’s furlough, and came to Casbenno, very 
doubtful of how his uncle would receive his com- 
munication. They had agreed, it was true, that 
when the moment came he should personally notify 
his uncle of the date fixed for the wedding, but, 
wishing to neglect no precaution in the actual 
precarious condition of Monsignore’s health, he 
first interviewed Dr. Sandri, who shrugged his 
shoulders and replied: 

“Can’t tell! I know something about men — 
plain, ordinary men. He’s the first and only 
saint I’ve attended. You must take your chance, 
that’s all!” 

However, the young man’s anxiety was allayed 
from the beginning of their interview as Mon- 
signore looked and felt much better; the prospect 
of having his “boy” near him during a whole 
week had brightened him considerably. He 


326 Monsignor Villarosa 

listened, it is true, with a grave face to Guidons 
preparatory phrases, but interrupted him with a 
peculiar note of anxious interrogation in his voice, 
saying: “I understand, my boy, I understand; 
but has the day been fixed, and when?” Then, 
without waiting for an answer, he added, almost 
shyly: “Does she bear me any ill-will?” Guido 
saw his chance, and was no laggard in seizing the 
opportunity presented to him. He spoke of Delia 
as he never had done before, telling Monsignore 
of the infinite sweetness of her soul, of the great 
wave of tenderness which had come over her upon 
their memorable first encounter, of her admiration 
for the thinker and the hero, and of her steadfast 
refusal to be married if that were to cause him the 
slightest grief. 

Monsignore listened with his eyes closed, as if 
afraid to reveal the emotion by which he was over- 
whelmed; for the first time in months his poor, 
tortured heart felt a Divine balm soothe inexpres- 
sibly the mortal wound by which it had been 
struck, and he murmured to himself, so softly that 
Guido could not hear him: “ * Perfect love casteth 
out all fear.’ ” He was silent for a long time 
after the “boy” had finished his say, then serenely, 
almost sternly, he said: “The laws of my Church 
know of no exceptions, and to my profoimd grief 


Vanquished but Not Cowed 327 


your marriage cannot be sanctified and blessed 
by the holy rites of my Church, which in other 
circumstances I would have celebrated with a 
heart brimming over with love and gratitude to 
God. Yet, my son, she whom you have chosen 
is all I could wish for you, and while she acknow- 
ledges not my faith, she is nearer to my Master 
than many of us, priests though we are. So, not 
only would it be cruel and useless to postpone 
your union on my behalf, but, in the higher light 
by which men and things are now perceived by 
me, it would be wrong. So, marry her, my son, 
at the date you have arranged. If my enemies 
heard me, maybe, my words would be treasured 
and used against me, but nevertheless I am per- 
fectly free from any pangs of conscience. May 
God bless and prosper Delia and you, my son, as 
I do now with all my soul,” and he murmured a 
short prayer. For the first time Monsignore had 
called Delia by her Christian name. He had not 
hesitated; the name came easily and fluently, as 
if in his heart he had been long accustomed to 
think of her as some one very near and dear. 

When Dr. Sandri came for his usual visit, he 
was greeted by his patient in better spirits than 
he had seen him in for many a weary week, and 
Monsignore himself announced to him the forth- 


328 Monsignor Villarosa 

coming marriage of Guido to Donna Delia Leoni, 
not hiding that he was, on principle, as firmly 
opposed to divorce as before, but would not oppose 

the union as Donna Delia was Sandri cut 

him short in high glee, crying joyously: peach. 

Told you so the first day. And, furthermore, an 
angel. Give me saints for mulishness. Yes, sir! 
You've found out, to be sure. I’m glad. She’ll 

take care of ” and he was going to ramble on, 

in that tone, when Guido nudged him in the ribs 
to remind him that nothing had been said as yet 
that could be interpreted as to whether he would 
or not receive Guido’s wife. So the conversation 
was allowed to drift on to other topics, and a few 
hours after Guido went up to the Villa Meroni, 
and carried to his sweetheart the response of 
Monsignore. 

Ever since the ratification of the new pact of 
tenantry in Corgeno, the peasants had rapidly 
realised the enormous advantages that the new 
order of things had brought to them, and, accord- 
ingly, everything went on as smoothly and pleas- 
antly as possible, almost as if there was a sort of 
honeymoon between tenants and landlord. The 
peasants vied among themselves to furnish the 
so-called giornate d’ohbligo (“days of obligatory 
labor”), the remuneration for which had been 


Vanquished but Not Cowed 329 

trebled by Monsignore, and the old overseer, 
Girola, who in the days of Graglia had a hard time 
to obtain the men he needed, was now tormented 
out of all patience by the insistence of those who 
were anxious to come, whether wanted or not. 
It is true that during the troubled times preceding 
the riot in Varese the peasants of Corgeno had, 
if blindly, followed the example of the others, 
and that a number of them had actually taken 
part in the riot, but, after all. Monsignore had no 
fault to find with them, though much saddened 
by their lack of understanding and gratitude. On 
the whole he was well satisfied with the results of 
his experiment, and loved to point it out as an 
unanswerable demonstration of what could have 
been done everywhere else. Even Don Paolino, 
the incorrigible pessimist where peasants were 
concerned, was reluctantly compelled to recognise 
that, for once, he had misjudged them. When 
important and undelayable reparations had to be 
made in the roof of the -episcopal villa, every one 
was agreed that for a fortnight the family be 
moved to Corgeno. Early in February, choosing 
a favorable day. Monsignore and Don Paolino, 
with the necessary servants, drove to the old 
Villarosa home, and took up their temporary 
quarters. 


330 Monsignor Villarosa 

Monsignore found on his arrival the usual crowd 
of peasants ready to greet him in the street, but 
was immediately struck, and Don Paolino even 
more than himself, by a subtle transformation in 
their manners. It was evident that the men 
moved and looked about more freely and openly, 
with much of their usual hang-dog and sneaking 
expression cleared from their hard faces, and 
appeared better clothed and better fed; but, at the 
same time, a bold, almost sneeringly condescend- 
ing expression qualified their attitudes, which 
unavoidably grated upon the nerves of the aristo- 
crat, which Monsignore invincibly was, and of 
Don Paolino, who instinctively fathomed more 
deeply than his master the real meaning of the 
transformation. The women, no doubt, were 
still unchanged and quite as profuse in their salu- 
tations and genuflexions; but then, they were far 
yet from experiencing the effects of the new times, 
for their lords and masters, though now prating 
of liberty and equality, took good care to enforce, 
exactly as in the olden times, their undiscussed 
and tyrannic authority. So the reception of 
Monsignore appeared, on the surface, quite as 
cordial as it ever had been, and he passed into the 
old house smiling contentedly to those whom he 
still loved to call his children. 


Vanquished but Not Cowed 331 

At the Gastello he found to receive him the 
Board of the Agricultural Association and also 
the expert surveyor, who, according to the old 
Lombard habit, inspected yearly the woods, keep- 
ing tally of the trees which had been cut the year 
before, of those naturally dead or decayed, and 
imparted orders for the next season. The sur- 
veyor, old-fashioned and meticulous, had a very 
sorry tale to relate, and was highly incensed by 
the ruthless and wholly arbitrary destruction 
dealt in his much beloved woods. The peasants 
had practically stolen three times as much timber 
as they were entitled to by their contract, and the 
surveyor, without demur, volubly poured it all 
out at once to Monsignore, in the presence of the 
Board, as the directors were, of course, to be held 
responsible for the serious damage inflicted on the 
estate. Now it was a well-known peculiarity of 
Villarosa that the useless cutting of even a single 
tree greatly angered him, as he loved them with 
all his soul; so Monsignore turned upon Centeu, 
the president, and very sternly demanded an 
immediate and satisfactory explanation. To the 
old gentleman’s evident displeasure and surprise, 
there was no hurried and shamefaced denial of 
the allegations, not even a more or less clumsy 
attempt to bring forward extenuating circum- 


332 Monsignor Villarosa 

stances. The woods went with the land; they 
had the land, and therefore the right of using the 
woods as they saw fit. This was Centeu’s argu- 
ment, and neither he nor the others would budge 
from that point of view. Monsignore and the 
surveyor argued and explained with all the means 
in their power, but it turned out to be all wasted 
breath, for the more the peasants saw that they 
had no right of doing what they had done, as 
they well knew even before, the more obstinately 
they endeavored to usurp new privileges. 

At last Don Paolino could stand it no longer, 
especially as he saw the weariness and chagrin 
growing upon Monsignore’s face. He turned 
with such ferocity upon the Board that the peas- 
ants stepped back apprehensively, and thundered 
out to them: ^‘You are a set of damned thieves; 
the penitentiary is too good for ye, and you’ll be 
there soon!” 

Monsignore silenced his secretary, but at the 
same time he peremptorily demanded that im- 
mediate steps should be taken by the Board to 
stop all illegal cutting of trees, for he understood 
that this outrageous procedure was still going on. 
The president and the directors looked stolidly 
glum, and with low whispers and murmurs finally 
retired, but they had promised nothing nor had 


Vanquished but Not Cowed 333 

they given any assurances of their obedience and 
goodwill. Highly displeased, and feeling worse 
for the scene which had taken place, Monsignore 
went at once to his room, and remained in bed 
that day and the following, while Don Paolino 
used in vain all his powers of dialectic to persuade 
his master into a disdainful severity against “that 
set of malignant scoundrels and thieves.” 

For the next twenty-four hours nothing hap- 
pened, but early in the afternoon of the second 
day, the surveyor, in a breathless state of excite- 
ment and pale with fury, rushed up to Mon- 
signore’s apartment, and blurted out a most serious 
piece of news : the peasants, at that very moment, 
were deliberately cutting down the six great 
walnut-trees which formed the so-called Chioso 
del Conte (the Count’s Grove), a landmark known 
all over the district; he himself had come unex- 
pectedly upon the woodsmen, and despite his 
commands, threats, and entreaties, Centeu had 
flatly refused to stop the criminal outrage, while 
poor Girola, the overseer, who had imprudently 
attempted to wrench an axe from one of the men, 
had been badly hustled away with a bleeding nose 
and a black eye. 

Monsignore’s grief and rage then knew no 
bounds; that grove was extremely dear to him 


334 Monsignor Villarosa 

for a number of sentimental associations. For 
over a century and a half his forbears had played 
as children in the shade of those grand old trees, 
and rested there as old men; he himself could 
recall that the memories of his childhood were 
almost inseparably linked with them, and the 
wanton destruction of that grove, deliberately 
planned by the peasants’ insatiate greed of pelf, 
illegitimate though it be, and their brutal instinct 
to defy and insult their master, benefactor, and 
true friend, almost choked the old gentleman. Once 
again his pale face grew purple with justified fury, 
and the historic “Villarosa temper” blazed forth 
in real earnest; in a voice of thunder he dictated 
to Don Paolino a letter by which he gave formal 
notice to the Agricultural Association that the 
act of brigandage they had committed entitled 
him to claim from the courts an instant rescission 
of the lease, and that he would petition for such 
order at once if they did not leave the other trees 
of the Count’s Grove untouched, make immediate 
and profound apologies, and dismiss in a body 
their actual directors, replacing them by such 
men as he would suggest. Don Paolino volun- 
teered to carry the letter to Centeu, and he de- 
parted at once for the grove, as he was spoiling 
for a fight. 


Vanquished but Not Cowed 335 

Don Paolino in a few minutes reached the fatal 
spot, where the ruthless destruction was being 
rapidly continued, and read aloud to Centeu and 
the other members of the Board there with him 
the letter of Monsignore, embellishing it with 
expletives in the native patois, more formidable 
than refined. But the result was nil. Centeu 
sought to temporise by urging that nothing could 
be done until they had obtained the opinion of 
their lawyer, that same Guidobaldi who had been 
chosen by Monsignore, but with his next sentence 
he told his men to hurry up with their job and 
complete the cutting down of the two remaining 
trees. Don Paolino, livid with rage, lifted his 
heavy stick upon the president, but the peasants 
closed aroimd with such murderous faces that 
the secretary, fearless though he was, had to beat 
a hasty retreat, pursued by the taunts and gibes 
of the men. 

That same evening a procession of peasants 
paraded ostentatiously in front of the old Villarosa 
mansion, with loud cries of “Viva” for the presi- 
dent and the directors. In spite of all Don 
Paolino could say. Monsignore, hoping by his 
words and his presence to call them back to reason 
and decency, insisted upon appearing upon one 
of the balconies overlooking the street. As he 


336 Monsignor Villarosa 

lifted his arm to signal that he was about to ad- 
dress them, a sinister shout of “Morte a Mon- 
signore!” came from a corner of the crowd, and 
one stone hurtled at his feet, narrowly missing 
him. Unafraid, the Bishop faced the mob, and 
the supreme majesty of the man was so great, his 
pallid face and silver locks so unearthly grand, 
that, as if struck by a sudden panic, they took to 
their heels and fled ignominiously. A moment 
after Monsignore was seized by a second, and 
much more serious, attack of angina pectoris. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE WEAPONS OF ROME 

The iniquitous conduct of the Corgeno peasants, 
who had been treated by Monsignore with such 
extraordinary kindness and forethought, at a great 
sacrifice of his own legitimate interests, made a 
tremendous impression everywhere. The press, 
even the Socialist papers, had severe words of 
condemnation, but the organs of the landlords 
gloated over ''the deserved punishment which 
had overtaken the principal instigator of the dis- 
graceful agrarian agitation.’' Guido, telegraphi- 
cally summoned by Don Paolino when the attack 
of angina pectoris overcame Monsignore, rushed 
to Corgeno, and by his impetuosity made things 
even worse, as, armed with a himting-crop, and 
in the presence of a crowd of peasants too terrified 
to interfere, he administered a severe thrashing 
to Centeu, the president, and to Don Paolino’s 
own brother. The suit for a judicial dissolution 
of the lease was instituted without delay, but the 
337 


22 


33^ Monsignor Villarosa 

peasants had Guidobaldi, now member of Par- 
liament for Varese, for their lawyer, and by the 
influence he had craftily gained and the tricks of 
procedure in which he was a past master, he 
managed to draw it out into such intricacies and 
side-issues that it is probably pending before the 
courts at the present day. 

The attack of angina pectoris, serious as it was, 
could fortunately be overcome, thanks to the 
energetic treatment prescribed by Dr. Sandri, 
who arrived upon the spot almost at once, racing 
madly in an automobile. But when all immediate 
danger had been averted he warned Guido and 
Don Paolino that the condition of his patient was 
most threatening, as the repetition of such an 
attack might mean instant death, and that, even 
if no other spasms assailed him, the heart action 
of Monsignore now was so impaired as to warrant 
their gravest fears. Sandri ordered likewise that 
Monsignore should be transported back to Cas- 
benno as soon as possible, for the mere sight of 
the place in which he had suffered the greatest 
moral blow perhaps of his existence only kept his 
mind painfully centred upon it, and this, of course, 
delayed a recovery. So, four days after the attack, 
with all possible care and precautions. Monsignore 
was transported back to the episcopal villa, 


The Weapons of Rome 339 

though the repairs to it were by no means ter- 
minated. 

One circumstance, however, greatly favored a 
rapid, if only temporary, betterment in Mon- 
signore's condition of health ; the publishers of his 
great work had informed him some time previously 
that the two remaining volumes of The Symbolism 
of the Fourth Gospel would appear simultaneously 
and very soon, as they had come to the conclusion 
that such a masterpiece must be placed before 
the public at once, and in its entirety. So Villa- 
rosa had been steadily receiving the proofs and 
correcting and recorrecting them with indefati- 
gable industry and patience. Even when ill 
abed, even though distracted and embittered by 
the treachery of his clergy or the ingratitude of 
the peasants, he never neglected his work, much 
to the horror and dismay of Don Paolino, who, 
having no doubts left as to the results, tried to 
persuade Dr. Sandri into vetoing absolutely this 
occupation. In the beginning Sandri sustained 
Don Paolino, but soon changed his mind, as he 
saw that, far from hurting his patient, this work 
was a great consolation and tonic for him. At 
last the advance copies arrived, and Monsignore’s 
pride and happiness were unbounded and most 
touching to behold. For a while he forgot his 


340 Monsignor Villarosa 

sorrows, for a short time he was once more the 
brilliant Monsignor Villarosa of his palmiest days ; 
he twitted Don Paolino and joked about him, but, 
of a sudden, a dark cloud obscured the Bishop’s 
brow, and his head sank back wearily on his 
pillows; all the life, all the joy, all the excitement 
passed away, and, quaintly imitating Don Paolino 
when alluding to Rome, he repeatedly jerked his 
right thumb over his left shoulder and queried, 
What will they say over there?” 

The publication of the philosophical portion of 
Monsignor Villarosa’ s great work not only con- 
firmed but intensified the remarkable success of 
the first volume. An unbroken concert of admi- 
ration and respect sounded in the scientific and 
philosophic circles of the whole world. It was not 
only the wonderful depth and width of its exe- 
getical value, not only the crystal clearness of its 
logic, the ingenuity of its historical reconstruction, 
which drew the unanimous praise, but it struck 
all by the saintliness of its conclusions and by the 
novel and overpowering majesty and sweetness 
with which the author had known how to endow 
the figure of the living Christ. But, at the same 
time, it was supremely modem, and because of 
this it destroyed pitilessly many time-worn legends 
and spurious interpretations, fruit of misapprehen- 


341 


The Weapons of Rome 

sion and of ignorance that the Church had not 
only allowed to grow around the Fourth Gospel, 
but unjustifiably embodied into its creed. On 
account of this, it ran athwart of the blind fol- 
lowers of dogma, and might be considered as 
highly heretical by them; but the true thinkers 
and students could but praise unstintingly. Then 
Monsignore received a large number of telegrams 
and letters from the greatest theologians of the 
world, from Munich and Upsala, from Vienna and 
Paris, from Oxford and Wurzburg, with warm 
words of praise and sympathy, and so, for a time, 
the eyes of the world’s elite were centred upon the 
silent episcopal villa of Casbenno. 

Monsignore read those telegrams with the pale 
ghost of a smile upon his lips; it seemed as if 
insensibly he was getting farther and farther from 
the stress and travail of human life and from its 
anxieties and satisfactions. Talking was too 
fatiguing, so he now kept silent for hours at a 
stretch, but, in the meanwhile, it was evident that 
his brain was working more intensely and more 
easily than ever. To Don Paolino, his faithful 
and untiring watch-dog, nurse, and confidant, he 
often expressed the one deeply rooted hope of 
his heart, which nothing could destroy or minim- 
ise; even if Cardinal Bredana and his followers 


342 Monsignor Villarosa 

were to triumph in the Holy Congregation of the 
Index, his Holiness would never permit that they 
should prevail in the end, but would recognise and 
approve the spirit and aim of his life’s work. 
And the good secretary, though in his heart of 
hearts profoundly and incorrigibly sceptical, was 
not cruel enough to instil his doubts into the mind 
of his adored master. 

At the Curia, the apparition of Monsignor Villa- 
rosa’s volumes and the general admiration they 
elicited created almost a panic. The most learned 
and most intellectual among the Roman Catholics 
had given repeated proofs of a growing disposi- 
tion to question, and even ignore, the decisions of 
the Curia, thus indicating the existence of a latent 
spirit of revolt against its dictates, and a tendency 
to demand radical reforms in its principles and 
actions; if the faction which had ruled at Rome 
so long hoped to preserve their omnipotent and 
unquestioned power, they must nip at once this 
fractiousness in the bud. From all sides most 
devout and pure-minded men were clamoring 
that Rome should cease striving and plotting to 
regain the material and temporal dominion it had 
lost, and should devote all its energy to maintain 
and widen its spiritual authority. This, of all 
prospects, was the most threatening for the Curia 


343 


The Weapons of Rome 

and its shadowy advisers, men who are the effect- 
ive sans-patrie as much as the exponents of extreme 
anarchism, many of them, shameful as it may be 
to say it, Italians who would have gladly throttled 
the Unity of their country and drowned it in an 
ocean of blood, in order to obtain, once more, a 
pitiful temporal power. These men felt that 
something must be done at once to check the 
diffusion of the new ideas, and that a staggering 
blow must be dealt so that there should be no 
possible alternative; either return to the fold, 
humbled and suppliant, or be cast out for ever. 

Cardinal Bredana, the leader of the “Tem- 
poralists” in Rome, not taking into account his 
personal hatred, immediately understood that 
Monsignore Villarosa’s book offered a most favor- 
able occasion to strike, and strike hard. No time 
was lost, no pretence to majestic deliberation 
assumed; a so-called ^'confidential” letter was 
immediately dispatched to the Bishop of Varese, 
pointing out to him twenty-seven "propositions” 
of his volumes considered heretical by the Con- 
gregation, and adding that, in consideration of his 
age and position, he was asked privately and in 
the friendliest intention, to retract them publicly 
at once. If, however, he refused to submit duti- 
fully, his case, much to the writer’s regret, must 


344 Monsignor Villarosa 

be at once forwarded to the Tribunal of the Holy 
Inquisition, and, in this eventuality, his condemna- 
tion to the severest ecclesiastical pimishment was 
foreseen as unavoidable. And Cardinal Bredana 
did not hesitate to sign this letter. 

By the strictest orders of Dr. Sandri, all letters 
coming to the villa must be secretly examined by 
Don Paolino and himself before they were de- 
livered, carefully reclosed, to their legitimate 
addressee. This was a patient labor, and no one 
could ever tell whether Monsignore knew of the 
fraud or not. When the massive envelope con- 
taining Cardinal Bredana’s fateful missive arrived, 
the two loving inquisitors foimd themselves in 
a tremendous quandary. How would this affect 
Villarosa? It might cause a recrudescence of the 
heart attacks, or it might, on the other hand, 
arouse the patient from that state of utter listless- 
ness and indifference to all things around him 
which Sandri considered as one of the worst 
symptoms. After endless hesitation it was de- 
cided to risk it, and Don Paolino handed the letter 
to the Bishop in Dr. Sandri’s presence. 

Monsignore’s reception of the news was emi- 
nently typical of his present state of mind. He 
read it himself slowly and composedly half aloud; 
an expression of fervid and indomitable faith and 


345 


The Weapons of Rome 

trust brightened his eyes, which seemed to be 
looking far away into the impenetrable Unknown, 
then he simply remarked to the two men, who were 
fearfully and anxiously scanning every movement 
of his face: have expected this ... for some 

time past. Now his Holiness will speak . 
that is all.’^ He then called for his paper, stamped 
with the Villarosa armorial bearings imder the 
Bishop's mitre, and in his beautifully clear hand 
wrote swiftly and without hesitation: '‘To his 
Eminence Cardinal Bredana, Rome. I answer 
that I do not answer," and signed “Guidus," with 
the official seal. 

But this commrmication from the Congregation 
of the Index was only the forerunner of more 
comprehensive and far-reaching measures ; the 
Pontiff, ably and unremittingly worked upon by 
the camerilla surrounding him, agreed that the mo- 
ment had come to speak ex Cathedra, and the 
theological world was suddenly staggered by the 
publication of the Encyclical Pascendi Dominici 
Gregis. ’ ' Then and there the new words ‘ ‘ Modern- 
ism" and “Modernist" were coined. The best 
and noblest lay religious thinkers, even those 
most devoted to the Roman Catholic faith, were 
appalled by this uncompromising return to the 
iron-bound rules of medieval Church tyranny, 


346 Monsignor Villarosa 

by this insane defiance of all the hard-earned 
victories of modern science and research, by this 
monumental blunder destined to alienate such a 
numerous army of hesitating searchers after truth; 
from every side momentous, though respectful, 
words of warning were sounded. 

But the Curia had the Roman Catholic laymen 
by the throat, and could threaten them with the 
terrible dilemma of submission or expulsion. A 
few, a very few — ardent, undisciplined souls, as 
they were called even by those most friendly to 
them, in reality some of the purest and noblest 
spirits among these laymen — broke loose from 
Rome altogether. One or two, stricken to the 
heart, actually succumbed to grief. A venerable 
poet, loved and respected by the whole of Italy, 
died in despair, begging from his death-bed a 
benediction from the Pope which was implacably 
denied. An English Jesuit Father, a great, noble, 
lovable soul, foully tortured by all the secret 
weapons at the disposal of the Curia, expired under 
the awful strain. For the rest, one by one, they 
gave up the unequal fight, as they were still 
suffocated by the blighting atmosphere of their pre- 
judiced mental training, and humiliter se subjece- 
runt. The game had been played, the victory 
won, and the Curia remained unshaken and 


347 


The Weapons of Rome 

omnipotent as of yore. For the great mass of 
humanity it was a passing event which left no 
traces; it was lightly spoken of, then forgotten, 
and never rightly understood. 

On poor, ailing, solitary Monsignor Villarosa 
the Encyclical had a tragical effect. Uncom- 
prehendingly, with all his faculties adrift, with 
eyes dilated by a wild terror. Monsignore read 
and reread for hours at a stretch that terrible 
document. To him it was even a more frightful 
blow than to any of the other Roman Catholic 
Liberals, as nearly every one of his “propositions” 
objected to by the Congregation of the Index were 
hypothetically but expressly condemned by the 
Encyclical, so that there could no longer pos- 
sibly survive in Monsignore’s heart any illusion 
or any hope as to what the Pontiff would decide 
about his book. It was the end, the irreparable 
downfall of his one tenacious conviction, the fatal 
shipwreck of his whole soul, the death of that 
ideal which he had cherished since his early man- 
hood. In that long and agonising vigil of a whole 
night, alone he faced an impelling and terrible 
choice between his creed and his duty to God. 
In the early dawn Don Paolino moved uneasily 
in his sleep upon the truckle-bed where, in spite 
of his anxiety caused by the shock which the 


348 Monsignor Villarosa 

Encyclical might have inflicted upon Monsignore, 
he had fallen fast asleep, deceived by the perfect 
immobility of his charge. Monsignore looked at 
him with deep tenderness, then, rising noiselessly, 
he walked in his ample dressing-gown to the broad 
window and opened it without a sound. He 
settled himself in his favorite arm-chair, and 
looking again upon the sleeping secretary, he 
smiled and murmured to himself, “The Latin 
was too tough; poor Paolino could not see the 
point,” then turned to the view before him. 

The day gave promise of being beautiful ; in the 
soft, velvety dusk he could see, outlined with 
marvellous clearness, the familiar panorama of 
his beloved mountains, and, more indistinctly, 
the hills and the lake. In the sky, right above 
the imposing mass of Monte Rosa, one great star 
was shining vividly, and on the rim of the horizon, 
in the east, an indescribable transparency her- 
alded the sun. A faint, mysterious breath of air 
rustled through the absolute silence, as if Night 
were gathering the silken folds of her mantle, 
then, suddenly, a bird chirped on a neighboring 
tree, and far on the other side of the lake came 
the bark of a dog, mellowed by the distance. 

Monsignore sat in a sort of trance, with all his 
soul in his eyes, drinking in greedily that mystical 


349 


The Weapons of Rome 

peace of the new-born day, so wonderfully restful 
and soothing to the exhausted warrior in his last, 
supreme encounter; it was only a brief surcease, 
for he knew that the fateful hour of a decision 
had sounded. As he was looking, a giant bolt of 
molten gold lighted upon the summit of Monte 
Rosa; the glorious mountain blushed a rosy pink, 
as a maiden at her first kiss of love, and Mon- 
signore, in the torturing joy of his cruel victory, 
sank to his knees and prayed. The battle was 
ended; it would be peace henceforth, even if it 
must be the peace of death. The world, with its 
dogmas and disciplines, its science and ignorance, 
had been blotted out for ever; he stood alone 
before his God. When Don Paolino woke at 
last, with a start, he was most gratified to discover 
Monsignore in his bed, sleeping as peacefully as 
a baby. 

The Encyclical was to be read in all churches 
throughout the Roman Catholic world, but when 
Sidoli came, as in duty bound, to receive those 
orders which it is usual for a Bishop to impart 
when a papal document has been forwarded for 
publication. Monsignore quietly but resolutely 
refused to impart directions of any kind, and told 
the Arciprete that he was at liberty to do what- 
ever he chose about it. Sidoli’s amazement knew 


350 Monsignor Villarosa 

no bounds; he had no doubts in his mind that 
Villarosa, sooner or later, must surrender, and the 
calm, collected, and purposeful resistance of the 
old man was wholly incomprehensible to him. 
He therefore wrote a long and detailed letter to 
the Cardinal-Archbishop of Milan asking for 
advice, and urging that something should be done 
at once. 

Effectively Monsignor Villarosa had received 
his death-blow. Dr. Sandri could not have told 
it, because, curiously, the physical organs of his 
patient were not in any worse condition than be- 
fore; all the physician could note was a slow but 
steady ebbing away of animal vitality and a cor- 
responding increase of power in the spiritual 
energy. To use a hackneyed expression, the 
blade was destroying its sheath. Above all, there 
was not the slightest desire to live, although ap- 
parently Monsignore had regained his cheerful 
disposition, and was kindness and patience per- 
sonified. After an unusually cold and inclement 
winter, as it often happens in the Lombard hills, 
April had set in with most lovely weather, balmy 
and soft, continued sunshine and tepid nights. 
Vegetation was bursting forth everywhere, and 
by the orders of Dr. Sandri, Monsignore passed 
most of the day in the garden in his Bath chair, 


The Weapons of Rome 351 

or even occasionally walking a few steps. Don 
Paolino always pushed the chair himself, and woe 
betide whoever dared usurp this function! The 
mutual confidence and tenderness between master 
and secretary was profoundly touching, and no 
one could have watched the pair without a moist- 
ening of the eyes. 

In these conditions, the date fixed for the 
marriage of Delia and Guido was rapidly ap- 
proaching. It had been decided that it should 
take place in Varese, at the Stato Civile of that 
town, because at the last municipal elections the 
Radicals had ousted the Clericals, and Dr. Sandri 
was one of the assessori destined to celebrate the 
civil marriage, which, according to the Italian 
law, is the only legally binding union. Monsig- 
nore was of course informed of all these particu- 
lars, and unobtrusively took the greatest interest 
in them, although even Don Paolino could not 
tell to what extent the feelings of his master 
concerning young Guido's marriage had been 
modified. Monsignore, however, had written 
a letter to the family solicitor, and Dr. Ceretti 
had come in person from Milan bearing a bulky 
and mysterious package, which Monsignore had 
carefully locked up himself in his private safe. 

The marriage was only forty-eight hours away, 


352 Monsignor Villarosa 

and on that morning Monsignore, to the astonish- 
ment of Don Paolino, seemed extremely fidgety, 
a remarkable contrast with his now habitually 
peaceful and listless manner, and insisted upon 
being dressed with unusual elegance and care. 
After he was carried downstairs, he sat in his Bath 
chair, holding upon his knees the package arrived 
the day before, and asked Don Paolino to push 
the chair towards the gate. The wish was as 
unusual as the rest of Monsignore's conduct on 
that day, but Don Paolino obeyed without hesita- 
tion, little dreaming of the much greater surprise 
in store for him. When they reached the gate 
the old gentleman turned right round in his place 
so that he could see well the secretary’s face, then 
with almost a twinkle in his eye, he said : Paolino, 
my son . . . you are very strong, and I . . . 
do not weigh much ... so roll me up ... to 
the Villa Meroni.” Don Paolino’s big mouth 
opened in blank and speechless astonishment; 
for a moment he thought that his master had 
taken leave of his senses; but the quiet, smiling 
expression of the face looking up at him dispelled 
his doubts, so he continued to push the chair up 
the hill, finding it impossible to overcome his 
amazement. 

They toiled slowly up the winding drive without 


The Weapons of Rome 353 

meeting a soul, and finally reached the esplanade 
in front of the house, without exchanging a word, 
as Monsignore was deeply immersed in thought. 
A deep bay startled Don Paolino, and he stopped 
short in visible alarm as Simoun, the great mastiff, 
bounded towards them. Immediately behind 
the dog was Delia, looking more lovely than ever 
in her simple white dress. This time the young 
woman was taken completely by surprise, and she 
started visibly, recognising her unexpected visitor, 
but it was far more the effect of the subtle change 
in Monsignore’s expression than his presence in 
her garden which had struck her. Delia’s femi- 
nine acuity of vision saw perchance what man’s 
grosser clay could not perceive, the irradiation of 
some wondrous internal flame which had devoured 
all that was not undying, and exalted that spirit 
to a plane seldom trodden by the feet of mortal 
beings. 

Monsignore smiled, enjoying her surprise; he 
turned to Don Paolino, who stood as transfixed 
and said: ‘‘Go, my son, for a nice walk; some one 
will call you when necessary,” then with a graceful 
yet stately inclination of his snowy curls, he 
addressed Delia: “Excuse me, Donna Delia, if I 
do not rise, but I am not allowed to do so by Dr. 
Sandri,” and as he saw Don Paolino already far 


23 


354 Monsignor Villarosa 

off, he added: you not come nearer to me, 

or do you dislike and distrust me still?” Delia’s 
heart was deeply touched by that pathetic appeal. 
She stepped rapidly forward and came quite close, 
so that her dress almost brushed his arm, but she 
could not trust herself to speak. Monsignore 
continued: “Will you not give me your hand?” 
and he lifted his arm almost shyly. Delia, deli- 
cately, as if fearing to hurt those slender, trans- 
parent fingers, took them in hers, then in a sudden, 
irresistible impulse, bent her head upon them 
and kissed them reverently. The act was so 
profoundly tender, yet so utterly devoid of that 
ceremonial quality to which Monsignore had been 
accustomed, that, greatly pleased, he quaintly 
whispered to her: “For the man, is it not? but not 
for the Bishop?” Then he continued in his clear, 
musical voice: “Delia, in two days’ time you will 
be the wife of my Guido, and I now know that I 
can trust his happiness into your hands. Life 
is at best very uncertain, and when I go I will 
leave my memory and my name to Guido’s care 
and to yours. My grief is still very great at the 
thought that no one will invoke a blessing upon 

your union, but ” For a while he hesitated, 

as if listening in doubt to a voice far away and not 
clear enough, as Delia sank upon her knees on the 


355 


The Weapons of Rome 

turf by his side still holding his hand, so that their 
heads were on a level and quite near to each other. 
Monsignore’s eyes then lighted up with an expres- 
sion of far-seeing tenderness, almost unearthly 
in its sublime comprehension, and he continued 
at last: “But, ‘those whom God hath joined 
together, no man can put asunder,’ as you said 
to me when I came to threaten and defy you, and 
you, a child, defeated and silenced me with words 
which have graven themselves indelibly on my 
mind; and as I know that God has joined your 
hearts, and blessed them Himself with His purest 
blessing, what is the importance of man’s puny 
invocation? What can he add to that which is 
already yours?” Then, in a lighter mood, he 
opened the package resting upon his knees, and 
from its velvet case he drew a magnificent parure 
of emeralds and diamonds, the celebrated Villa- 
rosa jewels, and deftly clasping it aroimd her neck, 
continued: “These gems have been worn for three 
centuries by the Contesse Villarosa, the last, by 
my mother; they are now yours,” and he caressed 
the proud little head bent before him. 

Delia, tongue-tied till then, was at last able to 
tell how she loved and reverenced him, the boy- 
hero of “The Thousand,” the self-sacrificing 
apostle of the down-trodden, the sainted martyr 


35^ Monsignor Villarosa 

of light and truth, who stood alone and unafraid, 
defying the secular omnipotence of the Scarlet 
Woman of the Seven Hills. She spoke long and 
passionately, with an eloquence and a force un- 
suspected in her calm, well-poised nature, and 
with an indomitable conviction which brought 
to Monsignore’s broken heart the last and proud- 
est consolation of his life. When she ceased 
speaking, he gathered her to his heart, and kissed 
her tenderly upon the forehead, over those wild, 
hawk-like eyes of hers, now overflowing with 
unshed tears. As Delia stood up, Don Paolino 
hove into sight, in a state of morbid curiosity too 
laughable to behold, and Monsignore took leave 
of Delia. For the rest of the day Villarosa sat 
silently musing, with a wonderful smile upon his 
lips. 

Two days after Delia and Guido were quietly 
married at the Palazzo Comunale by Dr. Sandri, 
the only drop of bitterness in their full cup of joy 
being that Monsignore was not present. They 
had decided to take a short automobile trip instead 
of the classical wedding journey, as the doctor 
had declared very earnestly that, in the present 
condition of Monsignore, it would be unadvisable 
for them to go far away. After the ceremony 
Sandri hurried to Casbenno, and found his pa- 


357 


The Weapons of Rome 

tient in the greatest and most pleasurable excite- 
ment, gayer than he had been for months before. 
He was, of course, obliged to relate all that had 
taken place in its minutest particulars, and Mon- 
signore never seemed to tire of the topic. But, 
stranger still, the fact that the marriage had taken 
place seemed to lift a heavy weight from Mon- 
signore^s mind, and he spoke continually and 
unrestrainedly of Guido and Delia as ^^my 
children.” 

This conduct of a Roman Catholic, a priest 
and a Bishop, at any rate in Italy, was absolutely 
an unheard-of event, and it leaked out almost at 
once. The gossip of the servants, and, it must 
be added. Dr. Sandri’s imbounded admiration for 
the broad-mindedness of his patient, spread it 
about, to the enormous scandal of an overwhelm- 
ing majority, composed of all the practising Roman 
Catholics, and of the so-called “society” people, 
who, though not caring an iota for Church or re- 
ligion, were opposed to divorce from ignorance, 
personal motives, or unreasoning prejudice. 
Through Sidoli, the Roman Curia was immediately 
informed of this tremendous scandal, depicted 
under the most sinister light that hatred could 
conceive, and with preposterous insinuations, 
such as only the diseased imagination of a frenized 


358 Monsignor Villarosa 

priest can fabricate. Cardinal Bredana used this 
new weapon at once and with implacable ability. 

About ten days after Guido’s marriage a special 
decree of the Holy Congregation of the Index was 
issued, and published urhi et orhi; it contained at 
full length the solemn and unqualified condemna- 
tion of Monsignor Villarosa’s three volumes, The 
Symbolism of the Fourth Gospel, as “a malignant 
and wicked heresy,” as an insufferable and shame- 
less attack upon the very foundations of the faith, 
and therefore to be shunned by all Catholics as a 
mortal sin. The author was given, notwithstand- 
ing, out of ^‘undeserved commiseration,” three 
whole days to humbly submit to this decree, 
which, if not obeyed in the allotted time, would 
entail measures of a still more drastic nature. 
This document was approved and countersigned 
by his Holiness himself. 

The impression created by this condemnation 
was widespread and disastrous; Roman Catholic 
thinkers felt mortally wounded by this verdict of 
Rome, especially endorsed by the Pope, against 
a work of such genuine evangelical ideals; but 
their useless opposition against the Encyclical 
had utterly routed them, and they knew that the 
Curia would be, as it has always been, pitiless in 
its victory, and that to raise their voices in in- 


The Weapons of Rome 359 

dignant defence of the Bishop of Varese would 
only mean to share his fate. In self-defence they 
kept silent in public, though privately expressing 
themselves in no moderate terms, so that not a 
word was spoken in favor of Villarosa. Outside 
of the Roman Catholic Church, where no such 
precautions were needed, great men of interna- 
tional repute expressed their immitigated and 
contemptuous disapproval; but these denuncia- 
tions, wise and eloquent though they were, seemed 
to strengthen the fiat of Rome, as it was pointed 
out that the apologists of Villarosa’s book were well 
known and uncompromising enemies of the Church. 

The official notification of the sentence pro- 
nounced upon his book reached Monsignore con- 
temporaneously with the printed bulletin. Though 
the old prelate had long since schooled himself 
to face the inevitable, though he must have known 
that it was bound to happen, though his mind was 
rising far above the reach of human hatred, there 
must have lurked at the bottom of his heart a 
wild, illogical hope that the Pontiff might still rise 
above the surrounding corruption of the true faith 
and be inspired by the Holy Ghost. The Pope’s 
approval of the iniquitous sentence was the drop 
that made his full cup of bitterness and despair 
overflow; nothing was left to him, nothing but 


360 Monsignor Villarosa 

the barren and disconsolate waste of his existence, 
sacrificed miserably to the pursuit of an impossible 
dream. For a second, but for a second only, 
what little was still left in him of the perishable 
impulses of the flesh rebelled, and a curse came 
to his lips — a curse upon his birth, upon life that 
had moulded his destiny, upon God and country, 
to which he had sacrificed all. But the curse 
died unspoken upon his trembling lips, and with 
one mighty sob that shook his emaciated form, 
he fell upon his knees in an ecstasy of prayer and 
contrition. The battle was finally and completely 
won, and peace, that “peace which passeth all un- 
derstanding” settled upon his brow and crowned 
it for ever. 

But if the soul had stood imflinchingly the 
supreme test, it was not to be so with the body. 
Monsignore, a few hours after receiving the news, 
was struck by a third attack of angina pectoris; 
it was, however, so slight and lasted so short a 
time that Dr. Sandri not only thought it quite 
unadvisable to wire for Guido and Delia, but 
rejoiced for a time in the illusion that the organi- 
cally strong constitution of his patient was gradu- 
ally overcoming the dangerous tendency to this 
form of attack. But this illusion was doomed to 
be blighted very soon ; that great heart which had 


The Weapons of Rome 361 

beaten so strongly for all that was beautiful, pure, 
and noble had given way under the fatal strain 
too long imposed upon it. Without any disease 
to which a name could be given, it was completely 
exhausted, and its fibres were insensibly but 
continually weakening. Every means that sci- 
ence and ingenuity could suggest were tried by 
Sandri, but with no results. It was as if the 
mainspring of Monsignore^s organism had per- 
manently lost its elasticity, and was pulsating 
slower and slower, until it was silenced for ever. 
Life for him was ebbing out steadily towards the 
great imknown sea, and as each outgoing ripple 
followed the other. Monsignore’s mind grew more 
and more remote from the earthly shore he was 
about to leave. The dissolution of his body was 
a consequence of the integration of his soul, and 
good Don Paolino, with all his devotion and 
faithfulness, felt that the master with whom he 
had lived all his life and had accordingly known 
better than any one else, was gradually getting 
higher and higher away from him, to an elevation 
which his simple, imtutored mind could not even 
appreciate. And so his loving care transformed 
itself into a sort of awed adoration, which im- 
pelled him to fall on his knees before Monsignore 
and worship him. 


362 Monsignor Villarosa 

But as Monsignor Villarosa’s soul rose above 
the toil and moil of this life, it grew more distant 
from those surrounding him, and therefore his 
solitude became absolute and complete, as speak- 
ing entailed a material effort almost unbearable. 
He sat for hours in his great arm-chair, his eyes 
apparently fixed upon the glorious landscape of 
the lake and hills, but really sounding the mys- 
terious, unfathomable abysses before him, his own 
soul, and the unknown beyond. And as he 
plumbed deeper into those eternal problems, with 
that strange new vision with which he was en- 
dowed, his last doubts, his lingering hesitations, 
the final erux of his great problem seemed cleared ; 
the uplifting power of death had explained life, 
and, at last, he knew. One link yet connected 
him with the earth; he longed to have Guido and 
Delia near him, to listen to their loving words, 
and to bask, if only for a little while, in the sun- 
shine of their happiness. A new resolution, at 
first hazy and indistinct, then, little by little, 
assuming gradually a clearer form, crystallised 
in his mind, but he did not immediately mention 
it, waiting till the moment should come. 

On account of his illness. Monsignore had for 
some time past been unable to perform his many 
episcopal duties; up to his third seizure, however. 


363 


The Weapons of Rome 

he had rarely missed saying his daily Mass, though, 
of course, he could not take part in the functions 
of the cathedral. He, however, continued his 
active interest in the spiritual and disciplinary 
affairs of the diocese, and, when the occasion 
arose, demonstrated that his customary energy 
had by no means forsaken him. Don Felice 
Ranzi, the Curato of La Cascinetta, fell athwart 
of this energy, when a scandal that had been 
brewing for some time broke out violently. It 
was of such a sordid and revolting nature, and had, 
moreover, particulars so narrowly bordering upon 
crime, that the least said about it the better. Dr. 
Sandri, boiling over with indignation, brought the 
facts of the case to Monsignore’s notice, and after 
a thorough examination of the matter, the Bishop 
dictated a strong letter to the accused priest, de- 
manding of him an immediate and comprehensive 
explanation, with positive proofs of his innocence. 
Don Felice, in reply, sent a curt, flat, and even 
insolent denial of all facts alleged, but not the 
slightest rebuttal of the testimony against him, 
and Monsignore promptly suspended him a divinis. 
At last Sidoli’s continued insistence with the 
Cardinal-Archbishop and with Cardinal Bredana 
in Rome brought its fruit, and his activity against 
Monsignor Villarosa was amply rewarded by the 


364 Monsignor Villarosa 

Curia. In a Consistory then held by the Pope, 
Arciprete Sidoli was created Bishop of Hermopolis 
in partihus infidelium, and named Suffragan to 
the titular Bishop of Varese, with the eventual 
reversal of the see. Now, it is perfectly regular 
and proper to name such Suffragans in cases of 
total incapacity, either mental or physical, of 
the head of a diocese; but Monsignore could still 
exercise, in part at least, the most important 
functions of his position, and it was evident that 
Sidoli’s nomination meant that the Curia was 
following unswervingly its line of policy as a 
reprisal for Villarosa ’s tacit refusal to obey the 
injunctions of the Holy Congregation of the Index. 
Sidoli, without an hour’s delay (an unheard-of 
event) , was consecrated in the Cathedral of Milan 
by Cardinal- Archbishop Baraldi, and returned in 
hot haste to Varese to occupy at once his new 
position. In his spiteful cruelty he gloated at the 
idea of oppressing and tormenting with renewed 
venom the man whom he temperamentally hated, 
with the hate of ignorance and darkness for know- 
ledge and light ; it has been said that the Juror 
ecclesiasticus knows no restraint, and Sidoli was 
a specimen of its power. 

Monsignor Villarosa had just overcome his 
third attack ; and though it had seemed to be com- 


The Weapons of Rome 365 

paratively light and unimportant, Sandri and Don 
Paolino had decided that it would be wise to hide 
from him Sidoli’s exaltation to a bishopric and 
the man’s election to Suffragan, as from their own 
unbounded indignation they gauged the impres- 
sion the news would make upon the patient. But 
they knew not the depth of Sidoli’s malice, and 
the anxious watchers round Monsignore’s bed 
were startled next morning by the voice of the 
quondam Arciprete, loudly calling for admission; 
how he had been able to reach the hall immediate 
to Monsignore’s chamber was never ascertained. 
The low, silken, mellifluous tones of the once 
cringing hypocrite had changed into a loud and 
sonorous bellow, which he must have imagined 
imposing, so that Monsignore, though lost and 
far away in his meditations, could not help hear- 
ing the noise. But before his master could ask 
any questions, Don Paolino had bounded out of 
the room, and was, metaphorically, if not quite 
materially, at the throat of the unwelcome visitor. 
This interview was unquestionably noisy, for the 
discussion rapidly degenerated into a very undigni- 
fied scuffle, and Monsignore recognised the voice 
of Sidoli threatening Don Paolino with all the 
thunderbolts of his canonic vengeance if not 
ushered in at once. 


366 Monsignor Villarosa 

“This is the episcopal villa; I am Bishop- 
Coadjutor of this diocese!” the irate priest was 
screaming. ‘ ‘ Get out of my way, you low peasant ! 
I have the right to see Villarosa now and at all 
times, even if he is playing sick!” 

With an admirable display of calm strength of 
will. Monsignore straightened himself up in bed, 
and in a voice as clear and far-reaching as a clarion, 
commanded: “Paolino, introduce that man in- 
stantly. Sidoli, Bishops are created by his 
Holiness the Pope, but God alone can create a 
gentleman. Say then your say, for I am ready 
to listen.” 

As Sidoli entered, arrayed in his bran-new 
violet gown and sash, with insulting mien and 
provoking gait, the sight of that wonderful pale 
face, aureoled by a wealth of silver curls, struck 
him for a second with awe ; he saw there the reflec- 
tion of some unknown, superhuman light which 
dazzled him; but he immediately recovered his 
assurance, and in a familiar, half-scoffing tone, 
a remarkable contrast with the servile address of 
a few days before, he said: “Brother Guido, the 
Pontiff has named me Bishop and Suffragan of 
this diocese to relieve you from your duties, too 
onerous for a sick man of your age. I will take 
possession of the diocese at once, and all corre- 


The Weapons of Rome 367 

spondence must now be sent to me. But, Brother 
Guido, as an old friend, I feel in duty bound to 
warn you that it is not so much your health but 
your actions which has made my nomination 
necessary. You are in very bad odor in Rome, so 
you had better hurry up and repudiate your 
heresies and make amends for your conduct. 
And as I am here, you had better confess your sin 
to me at once. If you do not, I shudder to think 
what is going to happen.” 

Monsignor Villarosa listened patiently, then a 
glorious smile of contempt illuminated his coun- 
tenance; he looked at the viperine face of his 
tormentor unflinchingly, and said: “You have 
well deserved your pay, Sidoli, and the Curia has 
a Bishop worthy of itself; be, then, Bishop to 
your heart's content. But my conscience is 
mine own, and it is not meet for a Sidoli to ad- 
vise Guido Villarosa. Go!” and imperially, with 
vengeful arm outstretched and untrembling hand, 
he pointed to the door. 

The new Bishop, unapostolically foaming with 
rage, was about to attack his enemy by a storm 
of low invective, when Sandri intervened, and 
with no tender hands caught the visitor by the 
shoulders, and hustled him out of the room and 
out of the house, growling in the coward’s ear 


368 Monsignor Villarosa 

such threats of bodily punishment if he dared 
persecute again a dying man, that Sidoli, as white 
as a sheet, with his new gown and sash sorely 
rumpled, fled blaspheming. 

The official acts of the new Suffragan were a 
continual nullification of all that Monsignor 
Villarosa had painstakingly achieved for the 
spiritual uplift of the diocese. One of the first 
things he did was to revoke by a pompous letter 
the suspension a divinis of Don Felice Ranzi, 
congratulating him on setting at naught the 
calumnious and malignant accusations against 
his high moral character; later, to the scandal of 
all honest people, he named the criminal priest to 
be the Arciprete of Varese’s cathedral. Sidoli 
imagined that all this would be as gall and worm- 
wood to Villarosa, but he could not guess that 
neither he nor any one else could now inflict any 
pain upon the dying Bishop, as his spirit, soaring 
above the stress and travail of this earth, was 
winging its flight towards the Infinite. 

About a fortnight after the marriage of Guido 
and Delia, Monsignore finally made up his mind, 
and he did not lose an hour to act after he decided. 
He abruptly asked Sandri to wire to his “ children ’ ’ 
the following words: “Come to me at once,” and 
he signed “Ziggio.” And as both Don Paolino 


The Weapons of Rome 369 

and Sandri, in great terror and anxiety, pressed 
him with numberless and insistent questions 
about how he felt, fearing that he must be worse, 
he replied with a peaceful and cheering smile: 
^‘No, my dear friends; on the contrary, I now feel 
almost well.” 

24 


CHAPTER XIII 


GOD WILL decide! 

Delia and Guido had wandered a little out of 
their itinerary, having discovered, far up in the 
hills of the Lago di Garda, a tiny village with an 
old inn, just the fitting nest in which to hide their 
happiness. Monsignore’s telegram was accord- 
ingly somewhat delayed, but as soon as it was 
delivered they started immediately, racing back 
in defiance of all speed limits. At first they were 
greatly upset by the sudden call, though Delia, 
always calm and level-minded, pointed out that 
if Monsignore had sent a message himself he could 
not be much worse, and that the signature con- 
veyed a particular expression of tenderness, as 
it was addressed to both of them. Delia, with 
a woman’s unerring intuition, felt sure that this 
victim of a long and cruel persecution thirsted 
for the companionship and devpted care of the 
nephew he loved so dearly, and perhaps even for 
her presence, as she knew that the opinions of 

370 


God Will Decide ! 


371 

Monsignore had been undergoing a steady process 
of evolution. 

They reached Casbenno late one afternoon, and 
the first words of Dr. Sandri, who received them 
at the entrance, dispelled their immediate fears, 
although the news he gave them of Monsignore’s 
condition cast a deep gloom upon them, for he 
made them understand that, despite all his efforts, 
he had reached the end of his medical resources; 
Monsignore would not be much longer with 
them. Don Paolino, the quaintest presentment 
of helpless perplexity at the presence of the “new 
Contessa,” a divorced woman, in the Bishop’s re- 
sidence, kept in the background, but followed the 
others upstairs, as it had been decided not to 
delay the meeting, for Villarosa had been con- 
stantly inquiring if his “ children ” had not arrived. 
Dr. Sandri opened the bedroom door, and standing 
aside to let Delia and Guido enter, closed it care- 
fully, whispering to Don Paolino: “Not for us, 
now. Down we go.” 

Villarosa, propped up with many pillows, upon 
which his head rested wearily, reclined in the 
great carved-walnut bedstead; his delicate hands, 
now incredibly thin and transparent, rested limply 
upon the crimson satin counterpane, and the 
waxen pallor of his emaciated face made him 


372 Monsignor Villarosa 

appear as if it had been carved in marble. One 
single electric lamp, heavily shaded, threw a 
golden circle of mellow light upon his thick silver 
curls, while from the broad window a ghostly 
twilight, fast fading into darkness, gave an in- 
distinct view of the large apartment and of the 
magnificent scenery outside. 

Monsignore lay there in that remarkable state 
of semi-consciousness in which he now habitually 
remained, and during which his soul seemed 
straining anxiously yet fearfully at the few strands 
which connected it with the body, like a young 
bird still doubtful of its wings. But now there 
was no difficulty or hesitation for him to return 
to earth; his strange powers of divination told 
him before he opened his eyes who had entered 
the room, and an expression of happiness lit up 
his countenance as he gazed upon the young 
couple standing side by side on the threshold. 

For Delia and Guido the sight of Monsignore 
reduced to that incorporeal thinness had been a 
cruel shock. They realised at once that Sandri 
had warned them with good reason, and the ten- 
der smile which greeted them made the prospect 
of a coming separation unspeakably more bitter. 
But, through that heavy pall of sorrow, as through 
a glass, darkly, they had a glimpse of the deathless 


God Will Decide I 


373 


flame of faith and love steadily burning within 
that wasted frame, and they instinctively felt 
that to grieve for him or to begrudge his liberation 
from his earthly shackles would be cruel and 
selfish. So the young couple stood in an awed 
silence; he feasted his hungry eyes upon them, and 
at last he spoke: “May God bless you, my child- 
ren, for coming so soon!'’ and he opened his arms 
to them. Delia would have pushed Guido first, 
but Monsignore divined more than saw her move- 
ment, and added, “No, neither of you first, but 
both together.” 

They obeyed, bending from each side of the 
bed to him, and he lovingly gathered those two 
young heads to his breast and kissed them with 
infinite tenderness. As he did so they sank slowly 
to their knees, and there remained, while he 
spoke to them in short sentences, interrupted by 
frequent intervals of enforced rest, during which 
he stroked caressingly their bowed heads. 

He told them how infinitely he had longed for 
their presence, but that he had other than merely 
selfish motives when he interrupted their honey- 
moon. Every day it was becoming more painful 
for him to speak, and yet, ere he crossed over to 
the distant shore where his Master was calling 
him, there were many things he wished to tell 


374 Monsignor Villarosa 

them. They both knew the history of his child- 
hood and early youth, and how he had gravely 
sinned by breaking the oaths he had taken before 
God; they knew how he had atoned for his trans- 
gression, and he trusted that God might pardon 
him because it was his love for Italy which had 
carried him away. “But,” he went on to say, 
“I have failed to appreciate the magnitude of my 
sin, for in my heart I have often gloried in it, and I 
still wear on my breast the Star of The Thousand.” 
He passed the thin gold chain bearing the glorious 
token over his head and kissed it reverently, then 
he went on: “Delia, I entrust to your care this 
precious Star; take it and guard it, show it to the 
children God will send you, and teach them to 
sacrifice all for that ideal of which this Star is the 
symbol.” Then Monsignore slipped the chain 
round Delia’s neck. With flushed cheeks and 
glowing eyes the young woman looked proudly 
up to him, and more than by any spoken promise 
gave a solemn oath, which filled the old hero with 
profound consolation. He then spoke of his life, 
telling them of how for years, though doing his 
duty as he saw it, he had really groped in the dark, 
until God, in His infinite mercy, had vouchsafed 
to him two beacons to lead him on: one was the 
moral and material redemption of the peasants; 


God Will Decide ! 


375 


the other, the divulgation of the true meaning of 
Christ’s message to humanity. In both he had 
failed through his vanity and over-confidence, 
and by the hatred and treason of those whose 
duty it was to sustain and encourage him; he 
freely pardoned them all, as he hoped for pardon 
himself, but to Guido he left the mission to protect 
and defend his name and his memory from the 
attacks of those who would try, even after he was 
gone, to besmirch and defame it. He had left 
his whole fortune to his nephew, and with it the 
request that he should assume his name and titles, 
so that young Guido Villarosa who was to be 
might complete the work left unfinished by old 
Guido Villarosa who was no more. 

Then the young officer, moved to the very centre 
of his being, sprang impetuously to his feet, and 
with hand outstretched, cried out: “I swear it, 
Ziggio, I swear it! But I ... I have not par- 
doned those vile murderers, Meravigli, Bredana, 
Baraldi, Sidoli, and the rest of them, nor that 
Church which ” 

With irresistible majesty and sweetness Mon- 
signore silenced him: “I have pardoned . . . 
I said. As to the Church, I know only of one, 
that of the Living Christ, which He created and 
wherein He reigns; the others, man-made, are 


376 Monsignor Villarosa 

naught but the evanescent froth of circumstance, 
the result of the perishable agency of their found- 
ers, as changeable as the clouds, as insecure as 
broken reeds, imbued with all the weaknesses 
and crimes which flesh is heir to. Men, their 
ideas, their symbols, and their dogmas, have dis- 
appeared from before my eyes; now I can see 
only Jesus of Nazareth, my Master, and He alone 
is my Judge.” 

For a long moment there was a deep and re- 
verent silence in the peaceful room, and the young 
couple felt that the spirit of Monsignore was 
soaring far above the present, in rapt contempla- 
tion of a divine and imexplained future. When 
he returned once more to earth he seemed stronger, 
and his voice came without effort. He again ad- 
dressed the young couple, this time upon a subject 
which had direct connection with their marriage. 

“My children,” he said, “even after I had 
ceased opposing your union actively my mind was 
still laboring under the obscuring influence of 
an erroneous conception of what the essence of 
Christian matrimony must be. It was still the 
rite of the priest's blessing which constituted it, 
and in my blindness I could not see that it was 
not the handicraft of man which ennobled it to 
the sublimity of a Sacrament, but the direct 


God Will Decide ! 


377 


intromission of God, by whom souls are joined 
together, indissolubly. Now that my eyes have 
opened, I can fathom the desolate shallowness of 
our theology, which pretends to solve infallibly 
problems which need higher and purer laws than 
those written by man. But it is not sufficient 
that I should have labored in vain to combine my 
belief in dogma with the law of God, finding be- 
tween them an abyss which grew ever wider; it 
is not sufficient that I should own to you, Delia, 
that the seed you had unknowingly sown in my 
soul ripened into a clearer knowledge of the 
mystery of life until that greater mystery towards 
which I am now drifting has perfected my know- 
ledge of faith, of eternity, of God! I have per- 
ceived that the one Divine Ideal is the all-powerful, 
the all-conquering, the all-suffering love ‘which 
casteth out all fear’ 1 I now must bring my public 
testimony unto the world, aye, and unto the 
Church, and proclaim it, so as to fulfil my duty 
to the end. For this I have you here with me, 
and to-morrow, in the consecrated chapel of the 
episcopal villa, thrown open to all, I, a Bishop of 
a Church which considers the remarriage of 
divorced persons a blasphemous desecration and 
a lewd immorality, will solemnly invoke the 
blessing of the Almighty upon your heads!” 


37^ Monsignor Villarosa 

Exhausted, but his face alight with the enthu- 
siasm of victory, he fell back upon his pillows, 
while Delia and Guido, moved to the very inner- 
most sources of their beings, allowed their tears 
to flow unrestrainedly over the transparent hands 
upon the coverlet. 

Strangely enough Monsignore was the first to 
regain control of his feelings and overcome his 
physical weakness. Perhaps he alone was fully 
conscious of how rapidly he was approaching the 
end of the toilsome journey, but the superb energy 
of his soul endowed him with a physical and moral 
power such as he had rarely enjoyed before. With 
a voice in which vibrated an unspeakable happi- 
ness he chided them for their tears: 

^'Wherefore these tears, my children? Now 
there is no reason for sorrow, but for great rejoic- 
ing. God in His infinite mercy has granted me a 
glimpse of the truth which is only fully compre- 
hended in eternity, and I, a sinner, can proclaim 
solemnly His will upon earth by the one act of 
my existence which brings perfect, unclouded joy. 
So now you must smile and rejoice in my happi- 
ness. I will call Don Paolino and arrange all for 
to-morrow. Poor Paolino! He will be the most 
perplexed man on earth! What will he do when 
I am gone? I have left him to you, Delia, in my 


God Will Decide ! 


379 

will!” and Monsignore almost laughed aloud at 
his quaint conceit. 

As Villarosa spoke he touched an electric button 
by his side, and Don Paolino came rushing up- 
stairs double-quick, not only because the faithful 
fellow could not bear to be away a long time from 
his adored master’s bedside, but also on account 
of the long-protracted interview between Mon- 
signore and the newly arrived couple, which made 
him exceedingly anxious and intensely curious. 
But he certainly was not prepared either for the 
scene which met his eye or, still less, for what he 
was going to hear. The ” young Contessa” was 
sitting by the bedside holding in both her hands 
that of Monsignore, and they were conversing 
in the most intimate and cheerful tones, while 
the “boy,” leaning at the foot of the bed, mixed 
happily in the familiar conversation. And Mon- 
signore? He hardly could recognise him — full 
of animation and of life, as if by a mysterious and 
sudden resurrection. The good secretary, per- 
pectly nonplussed, stood helplessly amazed in the 
middle of the room until Monsignore called out 
to him: 

“Paolino, my son, listen to my orders, and 
then hurry about them, because the time is short 
and you will have plenty to do. Prepare the 


380 Monsignor Villarosa 

chapel to-night for a festive function which I will 
celebrate there to-morrow morning; fill it with 
all the flowers you can gather in our garden and 
in the Villa Meroni, for to-morrow I will celebrate 
a solemn Pontifical Mass, and impart God’s 
Benediction upon my children.” 

The confusion in the mind of Don Paolino was 
so immense that for a while he looked as if he 
was going to have a fit, until Guido came to the 
rescue of his old friend, and explained in other 
words what his uncle meant. But the most 
beautiful trait of the peasant-priest’s simple, 
elemental soul was a blind trust in whatever his 
master said upon matters of morals and faith, as 
if the words he uttered came as a direct inspira- 
tion from on high. Where health or the material 
interest of his master was concerned, it was quite 
different; he knew that he had a clear insight and 
more common-sense than any one else, and never 
hesitated therefore to speak out boldly. So, 
taking his courage in both hands, he explained 
with great energy to Guido that in the first place 
Monsignore could not be allowed to rise from his 
bed and fatigue himself by a Pontifical, and in the 
second, that a similar celebration would be dis- 
astrous ^‘with that beast, Sidoli, on the watch, 
ready to report everything Monsignore did — down 


God Will Decide! 381 

there,” and with tremendous signification he 
jerked his right thumb over his left shoulder. 

Monsignore patiently allowed his faithful friend 
to exhaust his eloquence, then, softly but in a 
tone that rendered opposition impossible, he 
replied: “Paolina, this is my last disobedience to 
you. I am strong now, endowed with a strength 
that can never grow less; call Sandri, he will 
confirm my words. As to Rome, the Curia, and 
Sidoli, I know not of them, and even they can no 
longer injure me. So I will celebrate to-morrow 
morning and invoke the solemn blessing of the 
Almighty upon my children, whom He has united. 
I wish every one in the neighborhood to hear of 
the function, and early in the morning throw open 
the doors of the chapel, so that all may come. 
You, Paolino, will be my acolyte, but you are 
free to refuse if you fear the ire of Sidoli and prefer 
to keep on the safe side.” 

Then the hillman’s spirit flamed up in Don 
Paolino, and he interrupted his master: “I leave 
you? I not be your acolyte? I afraid of that 
skunk, Sidoli? No, no, nor of all the Cardinals 
of Rome! Wherever Monsignor Guido Villarosa 
leads, poor Paolino Bosetti follows!” and he went 
up to the bed, knelt by it, and kissed Monsignore’s 
hand. The act was so simple and so intrepid that 


382 Monsignor Villarosa 

Delia could not hide her admiration, and expressed 
it in such terms that then and there the good 
secretary became her willing slave. 

That same evening Sandri found his patient in 
a condition which a few hours before he would 
have thought absolutely unthinkable. He at- 
tributed it, of course, to a supreme display of 
Villarosa’s force of will, and felt sure that, as 
soon as the artificial stimulus disappeared, the 
reaction would be even greater, if not fatal. If 
any one had suggested another explanation of 
this miraculous return to vitality and power, the 
good doctor would have shrugged his shoulders 
with profound scepticism; anyhow, when asked 
whether Monsignore might officiate for the special 
purpose of blessing Delia and Guido he did not 
demur, first because he saw how ardently his 
patient longed for it, and again what possible 
good would it have done to thwart him? But 
above all, it was the greatness of Monsignore’s 
courage, the majesty of his resistance against the 
overwhelming power of Rome, the unswerving 
logic of his act which induced the doctor to give, 
even against his own medical judgment, this 
permission to rise as it were from a death-bed. 

In these circumstances Don Paolino set every 
one to work in the villa to decorate the chapel, 


God Will Decide ! 


383 


and, although it was night, masses of flowers 
were gathered from the garden and from that of 
the Villa Meroni, roses, violets, and lilies of the 
valley, which were banked thick in every avail- 
able nook and corner. The usually dark and 
silent episcopal villa was ablaze with light and 
resonant with the going and coming of many 
people, so that in a very short time all the neigh- 
borhood was informed of the ceremony which 
was going to take place next morning, and sooner 
than any one else, Sidoli heard of it, as he had 
his spies, always at work, even in the household 
of Monsignore itself. 

No more glorious morning could have been 
desired than that which greeted Monsignore next 
day. He had passed a peaceful night, though not 
sleeping much, as the anticipation of the impend- 
ing ceremony and the novel energy of which he 
was invested dispelled all possible drowsiness from 
his brain. Dr. Sandri, who had returned very 
early from Varese, declared with increasing aston- 
ishment that the heart action was normally 
strong and regular, and with Don Paolino assisted 
the Bishop in his toilet. Alone, and refusing any 
help, he wended his way downstairs to the little 
sacristy by the chapel, and there arrayed himself 
in the gorgeous stole and cope, heavily embroid- 


384 Monsignor Villarosa 

ered in gold, preserved for the most solemn 
occasions; with the great jewelled mitre upon his 
flowing silver curls, crozier in hand, and preceded 
by Don Paolino, he entered the chapel, walked up 
the Altar steps, and in his strong and harmonious 
voice began the Mass: Introiho ad altar em Dei^ 

The Oratory was full to suffocation ; a curiously 
mixed congregation called together by the curios- 
ity of the unforeseen that might happen, shop- 
keepers, idlers, peasants, and two or three priests. 
Within the Altar rails side by side sat Delia and 
Guido, she radiantly beautiful in a simple white 
dress, he in his regimentals. It must have been 
a painful ordeal for the young couple as the crowd 
packed in the limited compass of the chapel stared 
at them in hostile astonishment, but at the same 
time they felt that their personality somehow did 
not count any longer, and that they were only 
the symbols of a great principle. 

The Mass went on without incident, when just 
before consecrating the Bread and the Wine a 
slight gesture called the young couple to kneel 
together on the first step of the Altar, and Mon- 
signore turned round and faced the congregation. 
Never had he looked more imposing; never more 
impressive sight could be imagined than the 
ascetic grandeur of that pale and wasted face, 


God Will Decide! 


385 


now mystically refulgent with a light that was 
no longer of this world. His harmonious voice 
sounded in the absolute silence that now reigned, 
and every one of his words was heard with crystal- 
line distinctness: “O Lord, our God, Thou hast 
in Thy wisdom united by the bond of Thy im- 
perishable love these Thy servants, Delia and 
Guido; now again I implore upon their heads all 
Thy blessings, that they may thrive, and, living 
according to Thy blessed rule, proclaim the in- 
finite truth of our living Master, Jesus Christ. 
May the Almighty bless ye both, in the name of 
the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. 
Amen.’* As he pronounced this blessing his 
hands rested softly upon those heads he loved so 
dearly, and he looked towards heaven with such 
a glorified expression of invincible faith upon his 
features that it seemed as if a Divine breath had 
passed over the little chapel and its hostile con- 
gregation. Then Monsignore finished the cele- 
bration of the Mass, but when he knelt at the 
Elevation he, for a moment, appeared unable to 
rise again. The race had been run, the effort 
achieved, and now Nature was reasserting her 
rights upon the flesh which the invincible spirit 
of the dying prelate had dominated till then 
victoriously. 


386 Monsignor Villarosa 

Still Monsignore would not give in. Collect- 
ing in a supreme effort his rapidly failing strength, 
he pronounced clearly the final words of the Mass, 
and after the “//e, Missa est,” descended from the 
Altar; but Guido and Delia could see that all the 
blood seemed to have left his face, that his lips 
were blue, and that his breath came by cruel sobs, 
hardly controlled by him in spite of his indomit- 
able courage. As he passed by them he tottered 
ever so slightly, and in a flash they were by his 
side, helping him tenderly to the little sacristy 
where Sandri was waiting. Through a small 
side- window he had watched intently every motion 
of the old prelate’s face, and he was prepared for 
what was boimd to follow, knowing that the 
unavoidable end was near at hand, in spite of all 
he might attempt. But even in the sacristy 
Monsignore stubbornly fought against the mortal 
weakness now overcoming him. He removed his 
vestments, kissed tenderly Delia and Guido, then, 
almost as if it were the mere whim of a pampered 
invalid, asked that his “boy” should take him 
back to his room. The young man tenderly 
lifted that frail, wasted form, which did not weigh 
much more than that of a child, and rapidly 
carried his uncle upstairs. As he deposited his 
burden upon the bed all the strength left in Mon- 


God Will Decide I 387 

signore was exhausted, and he fell into a dead 
faint. 

When Sidoli had been informed of what was 
going to take place in the chapel of the episcopal 
villa, just after the arrival in the household of a 
Roman Catholic Bishop of so unholy and depraved 
a creature as a divorced woman, he had been 
overcome by a furious outburst of maddened 
fanaticism, and had communicated by telephone 
and by telegraph with Meravigli, the Cardinal- 
Archbishop of Milan, and Cardinal Bredana in 
Rome. His furious denunciation of Villarosa’s 
unheard-of and blasphemous conduct had fallen 
on ears only too anxious to gather anything against 
one whose complete ruin had been decided on in 
their minds ever since the first display of his 
methods and aims. But when the priests whom 
Sidoli had purposely sent to attend the ceremony 
returned and made their report, coloring it, of 
course, in such a way as they knew their employer 
desired, the Suffragan took the first available train 
and rushed to the Arcivescovato in Milan. Ba- 
raldi communicated immediately with Meravigli, 
who, nothing loath where his implacable thirst 
for vengeance was concerned, agreed to start that 
same afternoon for Rome and personally bring 
the whole case before the Curia, so that instant 


388 Monsignor Villarosa 

and drastic measures should be taken with the 
smallest delay possible. The orders to act would 
be wired to Baraldi, and Sidoli would be informed 
at once. The fact that Villarosa’s refusal to 
submit to the final decree of the Congregation of 
the Index had set in motion the Tribunal of the 
Holy Roman Inquisition greatly helped their plans, 
and there could be no possible doubt that the 
measures to be taken against the Bishop of Varese 
must be of extreme severity. 

At Casbenno in the meanwhile, the condition 
of Monsignore was precarious in the extreme. 
Dr. Sandri had not hesitated to use the most 
energetic means to overcome the faintness before 
it degenerated into coma, and he had been so far 
successful that his patient had reacquired his 
senses and could breathe without anguish. How- 
ever, he could not rest easily in a recumbent 
attitude, his arm-chair by the window in the 
study being the only place in which he appeared 
comfortable. The doctor had told the anxious 
watchers that all hope of prolonging Monsignore’s 
life had disappeared, for the heart was ever losing 
its strength and must come fatally to a stop. As 
the chord of a harp under the touch of a Divine 
hand, it had vibrated with all its sweetness and 
power, and now the harmonic waves were 


God Will Decide ! 389 

gently quieting down into the great silence of 
death. 

Villarosa himself was perfectly aware that his 
remaining hours were but very few ; for him death 
had no sting. Long before any one else he had 
perceived the gravity of his condition ; he felt that 
the Reaper was steadily approaching, and hailed 
his coming as that of a long-desired friend. To 
him death was gain, the portal of life, the beacon 
which had guided his mind, groping in the be- 
wildering darkness of a desolate night to the secure 
and peaceful haven of truth. So, with his fast 
ebbing strength he consoled and sustained his 
loved ones, especially poor Don Paolino, who now 
did not even attempt to hide his despair. The 
faithful fellow, with large tears rolling down his 
coarse and sallow cheeks, could not take his eyes 
away from his master’s, and stood looking at him 
with an intensity of devotion which beautified 
his ugly face. 

Delia and Guido never left the room, and it 
was Delia who rendered to him the loving ser- 
vices of a devoted daughter ; of these he was never 
tired, her mere presence seeming to fill his soul 
with unalloyed happiness. This state of affairs 
lasted for two whole days; but on the morning of 
the third Monsignore’s weakness was intensified. 


390 Monsignor Villarosa 

and the doctor could hardly count the pulsations 
of the heart, but his mind was more than ever 
perfectly clear, and strangely his voice did not 
seem to have lost any of its sonority. 

That same day Sidoli received a bulky message, 
carried to him by a member of Cardinal Baraldi’s 
household ; it was the long and anxiously expected 
sentence from Rome. The Suffragan opened it 
feverishly, and a glow of triumph shone in his 
eyes as he perused the lengthy parchment by 
which ^‘one Guido Villarosa, priest” was sus- 
pended a divinis for sacrilege and blasphemous 
desecration of the Mass, and, furthermore, placed 
under the ban of the major excommunication for 
his criminal persistence in the heresies pointed 
out to him, with fatherly benevolence, by the 
supreme authority of the Pontiff. The document 
was over the signature of the Prefect of the Con- 
gregation of Bishops and Regulars, that of the 
President of the Holy Tribunal of the Inquisition, 
and was countersigned by his Holiness himself. 

This sentence was extraordinarily severe and 
far-reaching; for in one blow it deprived Mon- 
signore, not only of all his rights and prerogatives 
as a Bishop, but even of the dignity of the priest- 
hood, as if he had been guilty of the most terrible 
infringement of the moral law, and cast him de- 


God Will Decide ! 


391 


finitively out of any communion with the Church. 
To Sidoli it brought, apart from the satisfaction 
of his jealous hatred, the implied confirmation of 
his immediate succession to the actual dignity of 
Bishop of Varese, to take effect as soon as the 
condemnation had been notified to Villarosa. An 
official letter would have been sufficient; but the 
circumstance that a sentence of excommunicatio 
major might be proclaimed orally with due cere- 
monial, in presence of proper witnesses, gave him 
the double possibility of hounding his victim to 
the end, and of procuring his immediate ejection 
from the episcopal villa of Casbenno, where Sidoli 
thirsted to occupy his place. To that end, im- 
mediately after receiving the official sentence from 
Rome, together with two Canons of the Varese 
cathedral, his most devoted followers, whom he 
had conveniently instructed, he started in a 
carriage for Casbenno to fulfil the orders of the 
Curia. 

At the villa in Casbenno, Monsignore, feeling 
his vitality ebbing away with increasing rapidity, 
had expressed the wish that the Curato of the 
parish should be summoned to administer the last 
rites of the Church. A messenger had been dis- 
patched at once to Don Eusebio, and the harmless 
priest, whose blundering chatter had so often 


392 Monsignor Villarosa 

amused Monsignore and his guests, did not lose 
an instant in obeying. The simple fellow had 
kept aloof from all participation in the struggles 
among the clergy of the diocese, but he was pecul- 
iarly situated, as all of the few inhabitants of the 
tiny village under his jurisdiction, and he, himself, 
were sincerely attached to the person of Villarosa, 
whose charity to those immediately around him 
was inexhaustible. So, down the steep and narrow 
path which led from the church on the top of the 
hill to the episcopal villa by the side of the lake, 
a little procession wended its way, while the bells 
of the church began to toll, according to the old 
Lombard fashion, two slow strokes of the bass, 
followed, at an interval, by two of the tenor. 
First came two boys in white surplices, one bear- 
ing a lighted censer, which he swung at intervals, 
the other the silver ampulla with the consecrated 
chrism of the Extreme Unction, then Don Eusebio 
in stole and cope, carrying solemnly with both 
hands the pyx containing the consecrated parti- 
cle, and behind him the beadle lifting high over 
the head of the Curato a peculiar bell-shaped and 
wide umbrella of vivid red silk with embroideries 
and broad fringes of gold. As they went Don 
Eusebio and the beadle alternated their responses 
in a loud and nasal monotone, and the few people 


God Will Decide! 


393 


they encountered on their way knelt devoutly as 
the Host passed by, and then followed with bowed 
heads. Reaching the villa, they entered, and 
through the house, thrown wide open, they as- 
cended to the study, where all the servants were 
already congregated. 

In his great arm-chair Monsignore sat in placid 
dignity, his bloodless face composed and irradiated 
by a divine expression of perfect peace; from 
time to time he bent his head slightly forward as 
if he were listening intently to a voice that he 
alone could hear, and a joyful smile of perfect 
comprehension lighted up his wasted features. 
Delia was kneeling by the side of the arm-chair 
with a restorative that she applied from time to 
time, always being rewarded by a loving glance. 
Dr. Sandri and Guido stood behind the chair, 
while Don PaoHno, hardly containing his sobs, 
arranged the improvised altar for the coming 
Sacraments. Don Eusebio, as he entered the 
room, began at once the first words of the service, 
and all those present, excepting Guido and the 
doctor, knelt where they stood. When the cele- 
brant removed from its receptacle the consecrated 
particle, nobody noticed the sound of a carriage, 
rapidly driven, nor the voices of several persons 
hurriedly ascending the stairs, so that when Don 


394 Monsignor Villarosa 

Eusebio came to Monsignore’s arm-chair, with 
the words Accipe Corpus Domini Nostri” and 
was just going to depose the viaticum upon the 
lips of the dying Bishop, a loud voice, breaking 
rudely upon the deep silence, startled violently 
all those present. 

It was Sidoli with his witnesses, who, finding 
the house deserted and no one there to thwart his 
plans, had rushed upstairs, knowing by the tolling 
of the church bell what must be going on. Stop, 
Don Eusebio — stop! I, your Bishop, command 
you!” the triumphant priest cried at the top of 
his voice. “No shriving of heretics banned by 
the supreme authority of the Holy Pontiff!” 
Horror-stricken, and terrified, the poor Curato 
fell back in confusion, while simultaneously 
Guido, Sandri, and Don Paolino seemed disposed 
to fly at the throat of the intruder; but Mon- 
signore had opened his eyes wide, and in a voice 
which seemed to come, clear and sonorous, from 
an incalculable distance, he quieted them imperi- 
ously, and then, addressing Sidoli, he interrogated : 
“What wiliest thou, who darest disturb my dying 
hour? Speak!” 

The booming voice of Rome’s executioner articu- 
lated with fierce joy each word in the sentence 
of the Inquisition; they fell in the solemn hush of 


God Will Decide ! 


395 


the death-chamber with a tremendous force. 
Villarosa listened, now keeping bolt upright in his 
arm-chair, as lifted up by a supernatural power. 
But nothing came to mar the august peace of his 
expression until Sidoli reached the last sentences, 
in which the bearer of the decree was empowered 
to accept the humble and tearful confession of the 
great sinner, justly stricken by the immanent 
justice of the Vicar of Christ; then the dying 
prelate smiled to himself, not in contempt, not 
in disdain, but with the superb comprehension of 
one to whom has been granted the full knowledge 
of life's meaning. Lifting his wasted hands, 
clasped together in a sublime gesture of thanks- 
giving, and with all his soul in his voice, Villarosa 
cried: “I have asked my God that I might appear 
before Him naked and humbled, and, behold! 
God hath granted my prayer. May His name be 
for ever blessed!^ I have relinquished my ensign 
of glory as a soldier of Italy, and Rome tears from 
my head the Bishop's mitre, and casts me outside 
its pale as a suspended priest, a heretic, and a 
recreant, to die unshriven and unblessed, so that 
now I present myself at the feet of my Saviour 
stripped of all the pomp and vanity of this world. 
But harken, Sidoli, and let those who sent thee 
harken. I appear to-day before our Almighty 


39^ Monsignor Villarosa 

Father to appeal from the sentence of His Vice- 
Regent ! God will decide ! ’ ’ 

Villarosa fell back upon his pillows; a glorious 
smile illumined his features and left upon them a 
radiancy which was not of this world. Mon- 
signor Guido Villarosa, one-time soldier of “The 
Thousand” and Bishop of Varese, had presented 
his appeal to the Eternal Judge. 

THE END 


Selection from the 
Catalogue of 

C. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 


Complete Catalogue sent 
0X1 application 













Matthew Hargraves 

By 

S. G. Tallentyre 

Author of “ Bassett,” ” Life of Voltaire,” etc. 

/ 2 ®. $L5S 

To those discriminating readers of fiction 
who put human interest above the eccentric 
and exceptional, this new book by S. G. 
Tallentyre, recounting with rare fidelity the 
progress through life of Matthew Hargraves, 
son of the portly landlord of the Hope and 
Anchor y with all the qualities one respects 
and the limitations one recognizes in the 
average man, will afford delightful hours. 
The delicate way in which the author con- 
veys to the reader the sense of growing 
sympathy between Matthew and the girl 
whom he and his wife have taken into their 
coldly correct household is a refreshing escape 
from the clumsy, or even gross, manner in 
which many writers of fiction, with an 
artistry less perfect, would have done vio- 
lence to the situation. But the supreme 
achievement of the author’s artistry is to 
have made a commonplace man thoroughly 
interesting. 



The Torch of 
Life 

By 

Rachel S. Macnamara 

Author of “ The Fringe of the Desert ” 

12°. $1,35 net 

With The Fringe of the Desert Miss Macnamara 
achieved an immediate success. Her new story 
opens with Titian Fleury being informed of her 
husband’s death. For ten years she has been the 
wife of a man hopelessly paralyzed owing to an 
accident on their wedding day. At the age of 
twenty-nine she finds herself free to discover the 
world of which she has heard men speak. She 
has ten spurned and thwarted years to avenge. 
Her ingenuous and impulsive nature cries aloud 
for happiness and love. Miss Macnamara has 
been justly praised for her wonderful descriptions 
of the East. In her new novel the Venetian 
scenes are equally vivid, being full of the life 
and color of the South. 



Horace Hlake 

By 

Mrs. Wilfrid Ward 

Author of ** Great Possessions ** 

$L55 net. By mail, $1.50 

**Mrs. Ward has done much excellent work 
in the past, but she has done nothing to come 
within measurable distance of this remarkably 
fine book — a book quite off the ordinary lines, 
interesting from the first page to the last, founded 
upon a psychological study of exceptionable power. 
It is a very common thing in fiction to find oiu:- 
selves presented to a * great character,* but as a 
rule we are obliged to accept the creator’s word 
for his greatness. Mrs. Ward has contrived to 
make Horace Blake really and indeed great — 
great in intellect, great in evil, and great, finally, 
in good. He holds the reader captive just as he 
is described as holding his world captive.” 

The World, London. 


G. P. Putnam’s Sons 

New York London 


Jean Gilles, 
ScKoolboy 

By- 

Andre Lafon 

Translated from tKe FrencH by Lady 
XHeodora Davidson 

Jean Gilles^ Schoolboy has won the highest re- 
compense in the gift of the Academie Fran9aise, 
having been awarded the prize of $2000 offered for 
“imaginative work of an elevated character.’* It 
is the first book to be thus honored by the most 
august literary body of France. 

Other authors have endeavored to portray the 
workings of a child’s mind, — Tolstoi, in his Sou- 
venirs^ Dickens in David Copper fields Pierre 
Loti, Daudet, Henry James, — but these have all 
written in later life, when the vividness of their 
own impressions has faded, and disillusion has 
laid its withering grasp upon them. They relate, 
as mature men, the story of infancy; Andr^ Lafon, 
a youth not long emerged from adolescence, who 
stepped straight from boyhood into the teaching 
profession, has never lost touch. He knows 
exactly what every type of schoolboy thinks and 
feels. 























Hr? fc fj 


L . . i 




«ff» 




VvV 


f • « 



M ‘^ ' 



^--i V' 


i.^ 




- 1 . »V y ^ V' 

,w-> 


'JS* 




* 1 ^ ^ '*■ ' *C^.' ’ ’* *^^1 - 


iu ‘ „ ■ , •? Jii'- 

* 5 % r*ii» ^ / * 4 ^ ^ 


/Vfe 


fj-: 






fV 






^ i 


V 




•f* 


ff « ' 

/I • 


«. i ». ' *' 

^^.pr 


V - 


i- _ 


Y '5 -* 


r 


’.Ti 


•'v--*.,£. 


• • 


V 




',( 


-41 U 

r . ■■■■^' 'jCn 

► %* 


'fei 


Jwr- ;'/.-■ 


W * J 

'•I* 

'- ‘‘ 


rv ‘41 .# 

m. . 

'V •i.rf. * 

«*,: • ■ f 


■ •'J 


Lff (a 

/, ,.,tY. 




•314 i 

'■JV T.J . 






t*A 


i/' 






} 


o 


iSf^. 


I 


J ji 








' 'v, ;■?*♦' 

i • .T • ■ ^ 


* 


:t 




;m:i' 


‘V . 


W; 


* T. 




I 






At 


t f 


r. 


•T 


M*: 


‘4 


f ’ 




'A 


W, 




j 


'■jr. 




■ 4 ' 


: i^r? 


.f » 1 








’■(;fci. 

■ - .'('VT^ 


• .* 


K ;^'i.S,f?’'Vi‘a 




■^4 


-rf- 












4 9 


- 'ri ^ 


S^i 


k;- 


•i#* 


a 




- -4#^ 


€ 




{, * 4 


1 




a'$ 


V 






f 


>%{■ 








;j'' 




.4 


- »: 


'■V.IF. 


I',‘ 






A' 4 . k ’>• 


fi'A >‘ 


k?ir>. i 


VI 


M. 


I^l ' 


I i 




c»\' A 

T IM ^ 


i?A 


% % 






m 


y.V''V. * ' 
‘< j. 


'-iJ 


ij 


r- 


b' ■. 


Uij 4 








